The forest had a way of swallowing sound. Even Evie's breath felt too loud as she followed her sister deeper between the skeletal trees. Winter clung to the ground, frost glazing the leaves like silvered bones. This was not a place meant for hunting deer—or for girls at all—but hunger had a way of pushing fear aside.
"Stay close," Mara whispered, tightening her grip on her bow.
Evie nodded, though her eyes kept drifting elsewhere. She had always felt the forest watching her, as if it remembered things older than people. Older than names.
They had tracked the signs for hours before they found the hollow.
It was a shallow dip in the earth, ringed by blackened roots and stones etched with symbols worn smooth by time. No animal tracks crossed it. No birds called above it. The air felt… held. Waiting.
Mara frowned. "This isn't right."
Evie stepped closer before her sister could stop her. Something pulled at her chest, a quiet ache that grew sharper with every step. At the center of the hollow lay a coffin—ancient, carved from dark wood veined with iron. Chains wrapped around it like desperate hands.
"This isn't for hunting," Mara said sharply. "We're leaving."
Evie didn't answer.
She knelt.
The moment her fingers brushed the coffin's surface, the forest exhaled.
Cold rushed through her veins—not the cold of winter, but something deeper. Older. Her vision blurred, and suddenly she was not alone in her body.
Darkness.
Stone walls.
Centuries of silence screaming into a single moment.
And then—him.
His presence pressed against her mind like a whisper against skin. Not words. Feeling. Loneliness so vast it nearly crushed her heart. Rage, restrained until it rotted into grief. A name echoed without sound.
Lucien.
Evie gasped and yanked her hand back.
The chains rattled.
Mara spun. "Evie!"
The coffin cracked.
Not split—answered.
A sound seeped from within, low and broken, like a breath taken after drowning. The symbols around the hollow ignited faintly, then dimmed, as if exhausted.
Evie staggered to her feet, her heart pounding violently.
"We have to go," Mara said, grabbing her arm. "Now."
They ran.
But Evie knew, with a certainty that terrified her, that something had followed her home.
That night, Evie dreamed of blood-red moons and hands reaching through stone. She woke with a name on her lips and frost on her window from the inside.
Lucien.
The following days were unbearable. Food tasted like ash. Sunlight hurt her eyes. At night, she felt watched—but not hunted. Guarded.
On the seventh night, the air in her room thickened.
A shadow peeled itself from the corner, unfolding into a man.
He was tall, impossibly pale, with dark hair that fell like spilled ink around his face. His eyes glowed a deep, wounded crimson—not cruel, but aching. Chains hung loosely around his wrists, spectral remnants of a prison not fully broken.
Evie should have screamed.
She didn't.
"You touched my coffin," he said, his voice rough with disuse. "You called me back to the world."
"I didn't mean to," Evie whispered, though her body leaned toward him, traitorous and unafraid.
Lucien studied her like she was both miracle and mistake. "I was buried alive to starve. Bound so I would not die, only endure. Years blurred into centuries. Then you touched the seal."
"Why me?"
His gaze softened, something dangerously tender breaking through the darkness. "Because you listened."
He told her his story in fragments over many nights. Of a time when vampires were kings and monsters both. Of betrayal. Of being sealed away by those he once loved, afraid of what he might become.
Evie told him hers—of a life lived quietly in her sister's shadow, of dreams that felt too heavy to chase.
They met in darkness, always on the edge of dawn.
Lucien never touched her at first. He stood close enough that the air between them hummed. His restraint was terrifying.
"You should hate me," he said once. "I am cursed."
Evie stepped closer. "So am I."
The first time he touched her hand, his skin burned with cold. The second time, it warmed.
Love grew like a wound neither of them tended.
But darkness never sleeps.
The forest stirred. Old magic noticed the broken seal. Hunters came—not with bows like Mara's, but with fire and faith sharpened into weapons.
One night, the ground shook. Lucien staggered, clutching his chest.
"They've found the hollow," he said. "They will kill you to reach me."
Evie's heart broke open. "Then run."
He smiled sadly. "I cannot leave while you are bound to me."
"Then end it," she said, tears streaking her face. "Take back whatever you gave me."
Lucien shook his head. "You gave it freely."
When the hunters came, Evie stood between them and the coffin. She bled. She screamed. She did not move.
Lucien rose behind her like a living shadow, wrath finally unleashed.
When the forest fell silent again, dawn stained the sky.
Lucien knelt before her, his eyes no longer crimson but dark as night. Mortal.
"I chose you," he said. "And in doing so, I chose to end what I was."
Evie touched his face, trembling. "Was it worth it?"
He leaned into her hand, breathing—really breathing—for the first time in centuries.
"Yes."
And in the quiet that followed, the coffin rotted into nothing, finally empty.
The Coffin in the Hollow
The forest had a way of swallowing sound. Even Evie's breath felt too loud as she followed her sister deeper between the skeletal trees. Winter clung to the ground, frost glazing the leaves like silvered bones. This was not a place meant for hunting deer—or for girls at all—but hunger had a way of pushing fear aside.
"Stay close," Mara whispered, tightening her grip on her bow.
Evie nodded, though her eyes kept drifting elsewhere. She had always felt the forest watching her, as if it remembered things older than people. Older than names.
They had tracked the signs for hours before they found the hollow.
It was a shallow dip in the earth, ringed by blackened roots and stones etched with symbols worn smooth by time. No animal tracks crossed it. No birds called above it. The air felt… held. Waiting.
Mara frowned. "This isn't right."
Evie stepped closer before her sister could stop her. Something pulled at her chest, a quiet ache that grew sharper with every step. At the center of the hollow lay a coffin—ancient, carved from dark wood veined with iron. Chains wrapped around it like desperate hands.
"This isn't for hunting," Mara said sharply. "We're leaving."
Evie didn't answer.
She knelt.
The moment her fingers brushed the coffin's surface, the forest exhaled.
Cold rushed through her veins—not the cold of winter, but something deeper. Older. Her vision blurred, and suddenly she was not alone in her body.
Darkness.
Stone walls.
Centuries of silence screaming into a single moment.
And then—him.
His presence pressed against her mind like a whisper against skin. Not words. Feeling. Loneliness so vast it nearly crushed her heart. Rage, restrained until it rotted into grief. A name echoed without sound.
Lucien.
Evie gasped and yanked her hand back.
The chains rattled.
Mara spun. "Evie!"
The coffin cracked.
Not split—answered.
A sound seeped from within, low and broken, like a breath taken after drowning. The symbols around the hollow ignited faintly, then dimmed, as if exhausted.
Evie staggered to her feet, her heart pounding violently.
"We have to go," Mara said, grabbing her arm. "Now."
They ran.
But Evie knew, with a certainty that terrified her, that something had followed her home.
That night, Evie dreamed of blood-red moons and hands reaching through stone. She woke with a name on her lips and frost on her window from the inside.
Lucien.
The following days were unbearable. Food tasted like ash. Sunlight hurt her eyes. At night, she felt watched—but not hunted. Guarded.
On the seventh night, the air in her room thickened.
A shadow peeled itself from the corner, unfolding into a man.
He was tall, impossibly pale, with dark hair that fell like spilled ink around his face. His eyes glowed a deep, wounded crimson—not cruel, but aching. Chains hung loosely around his wrists, spectral remnants of a prison not fully broken.
Evie should have screamed.
She didn't.
"You touched my coffin," he said, his voice rough with disuse. "You called me back to the world."
"I didn't mean to," Evie whispered, though her body leaned toward him, traitorous and unafraid.
Lucien studied her like she was both miracle and mistake. "I was buried alive to starve. Bound so I would not die, only endure. Years blurred into centuries. Then you touched the seal."
"Why me?"
His gaze softened, something dangerously tender breaking through the darkness. "Because you listened."
He told her his story in fragments over many nights. Of a time when vampires were kings and monsters both. Of betrayal. Of being sealed away by those he once loved, afraid of what he might become.
Evie told him hers—of a life lived quietly in her sister's shadow, of dreams that felt too heavy to chase.
They met in darkness, always on the edge of dawn.
Lucien never touched her at first. He stood close enough that the air between them hummed. His restraint was terrifying.
"You should hate me," he said once. "I am cursed."
Evie stepped closer. "So am I."
The first time he touched her hand, his skin burned with cold. The second time, it warmed.
Love grew like a wound neither of them tended.
But darkness never sleeps.
The forest stirred. Old magic noticed the broken seal. Hunters came—not with bows like Mara's, but with fire and faith sharpened into weapons.
One night, the ground shook. Lucien staggered, clutching his chest.
"They've found the hollow," he said. "They will kill you to reach me."
Evie's heart broke open. "Then run."
He smiled sadly. "I cannot leave while you are bound to me."
"Then end it," she said, tears streaking her face. "Take back whatever you gave me."
Lucien shook his head. "You gave it freely."
When the hunters came, Evie stood between them and the coffin. She bled. She screamed. She did not move.
Lucien rose behind her like a living shadow, wrath finally unleashed.
When the forest fell silent again, dawn stained the sky.
Lucien knelt before her, his eyes no longer crimson but dark as night. Mortal.
"I chose you," he said. "And in doing so, I chose to end what I was."
Evie touched his face, trembling. "Was it worth it?"
He leaned into her hand, breathing—really breathing—for the first time in centuries.
"Yes."
And in the quiet that followed, the coffin rotted into nothing, finally empty.