Come Closer

Julius hadn't moved since the doors slammed shut.

Everyone was gone now—except for the gossipers, those shadows that whispered near the hearth, the ones who had always known his deepest secrets.

He stood like a statue by the far wall, his back to them, shoulders drawn tight beneath a thin, fraying tunic. The firelight caught on his fists—bloodied, torn open where his nails had dug too deep.

Not from fear.

From fury.

"She was meant to be mine," he muttered. The words cracked through the silence, sharp and bitter. "She was my love."

Someone behind him swallowed. No one answered.

"She didn't belong here," he said again, softer now, as if repeating it might shift time, rewind the night, let her walk back in white instead of chains.

"Neither was she meant to be bought."

More silence.

"She'll die in there," one of the older girls whispered. "You've heard what they say about him."

Julius turned slowly. His eyes looked hollow—like something inside him had been torn away.

"I know him," he said. "I know what he is. And if he lays one finger on her—"

He couldn't finish.

His voice failed.

Tears spilled, silent and hot, as memory broke open inside him—

Aurelia, barefoot and laughing.

Aurelia, spinning through the rain, her hands clasped in his.

She was glowing with the kind of joy that made him believe in forever.

She had forgotten it all. Forgotten him.

And he couldn't bear it.

----------------------

Aurelia was washed, then clothed in black—just the way Tenebrarum liked it.

The fabric clung to her like mourning, every thread soaked in silence.

She sat by the window, eyes distant, trying to remember how her life had been before the tragedy swallowed it whole. The memories came in fragments—sunlight on her skin, laughter too distant to touch, the feeling of being human.

Now, she only pitied those still living in the human world. They didn't even know how much they were suffering... how much they had already lost.

And still—she didn't understand.

Why had the war started? Why had this world fallen into darkness?

She couldn't stop thinking, couldn't silence the storm in her head, especially not the way Tenebrarum had touched her... not with care, not with kindness, but with possession.

As if she wasn't a girl anymore.

As if she wasn't even alive.

Just something he owned.

A knock broke the silence.

Soft. Hesitant. Then the door creaked open.

A servant stepped inside—head bowed, voice barely above a whisper.

"Miss... the master requests your presence. In his chamber."

Aurelia didn't move.

The words floated in the air like smoke. Her fingers curled against the windowsill as her heart gave a quiet, traitorous jolt.

His chamber.

What did he want now?

She didn't ask. She didn't have to.

Of course, she assumed—the same thing he always wanted.

To continue digging...

To finish what he started.

Her jaw tensed. Her feet stayed rooted to the floor.

But the dress—tight and black and cruel—reminded her she didn't have a choice.

Tenebrarum wanted her.

And no one ever told him no.

The corridor was darker than she remembered.

No lamps lit the way. Only a faint red glow spilled from his half-open door, flickering like a warning.

She walked with measured steps, the soles of her soft black shoes brushing against the cold marble. Her breath was steady. Her silence was louder than any sound.

She didn't knock.

She entered.

Aurelia stood silent, her eyes low, the dark robe brushing her ankles as the chill in the room sank into her skin. Tenebrarum faced the far wall, his entire body wrapped in a black—hooded, gloved, masked. Not even his breath escaped visibly from behind that smooth, expressionless face.

"You will arrive at my palace tomorrow," he said without turning.

She said nothing. Her pulse jumped. His palace.

"There are rules you will obey," he continued. "Unseen doors stay closed. You do not step on white marble unless told. You do not enter the west wing. And if you hear music at night—no matter how soft—you stay where you are."

His tone never rose, but every word curled around her spine like a leash being pulled tighter.

"And if I disobey?" Her voice was soft, barely a whisper.

His head tilted slightly, just enough to make her stomach twist.

"Then you will learn why others do not."

Her throat tightened. She shifted her weight, careful to hide the small tear in her leg bandage. If he looked down, he would see it. See what the guards did to her. Would he care? Or would he punish her again for bleeding without permission?

"Come closer."

She didn't move.

"Closer."

She obeyed, one step, two—then stopped. It wasn't enough.

He took her wrist without effort, pulling her toward him until her face brushed against the hard plane of his chest. The silk covering him was smooth, ice-cold. Her breath caught.

Then—his scent.

It wasn't fire. It wasn't rot. It was... unnatural. Sharp and cold, like crushed violets and smoke from ancient wood. Elegant. Intoxicating. Nothing like what she imagined a demon would smell like.

Startled, she lifted her head just slightly, searching his face.

But only the plain black mask looked back.

She stood frozen against him, her breath shallow.

Then he asked it—calm, detached, as though the memory didn't belong to him.

"What happened to your leg?"

Her eyes widened. For a second, she thought she'd misheard him. But no—he looked down at her now, the mask angled ever so slightly.

As if he hadn't ordered it.

As if he hadn't watched her being dragged out like refuse, her knees scraping stone, her screams ignored.

As if it hadn't pleased him.

She said nothing.

Tenebrarum tilted his head. "You're limping," he added, as if he cared. As if the sight disturbed him.

Aurelia's lips parted. But there were no words. She didn't trust her voice not to shake.

His fingers brushed her chin, tilting it up. "I dislike disobedience," he said softly. "But I dislike marks on things that belong to me even more."

Something trembled in her chest. He was staring at her through the mask, voice still low, still toneless—and yet she felt it. The warning underneath.

She swallowed hard.

She had no idea what to say.

So she didn't.

And he didn't press further.

He only held her there, close enough for her to hear the slow rhythm of his breath beneath the fabric.

A rhythm that never sped up. Not even when her heart did.

---

To be continued...