Rosamila woke to the sound of birdsong and sunlight warming her face, a sensation so gentle and familiar that for a blissful moment, she believed she was back in her own room. But as her senses sharpened, she opened her eyes and felt her breath hitch.
She wasn't home.
She was in a room far grander than any she'd ever seen. The sight of it made her sit up, wide-eyed with wonder.
The chamber stretched out around her, vast and opulent, more like a private palace than a mere bedroom. Her bed alone was large enough to lose herself in, draped with dark, silken sheets and canopies that seemed to shimmer in the morning light. Ornate pillars lined the walls, each one etched with delicate, swirling designs, and the ceiling rose high above, adorned with faintly glowing symbols that cast a gentle, golden light over the room.
She looked around, taking in every corner. The space was divided into elegant sections—a drawing room with plush seating arranged around a low table, a dressing area where countless gowns and robes hung in shimmering rows, and a study nook with shelves filled with leather-bound books and a polished wooden desk that gleamed as though freshly waxed. It felt like an entire house within four walls, a world crafted solely for her.
Two enormous balcony doors stood open, inviting a soft breeze into the room. Rosamila slipped out of bed, her bare feet touching the cool marble floor, and she made her way to the open doors. Stepping out onto the balcony, she found herself in a little paradise suspended above the ground.
A small garden surrounded her, lush and vibrant, with flowers she had never seen before—blooms in colors so deep and rich they looked almost surreal. She wandered barefoot across the smooth stone tiles, trailing her fingers over petals that felt like velvet beneath her touch. The air was crisp and fragrant, carrying the scent of fresh blossoms and damp earth. It was unexpectedly peaceful here, calm in a way that softened her lingering anxieties.
Rosamila took in a deep breath.
Of course it's this cold. Why would a place like this have any mercy, even with the weather?
The air was heavy and bitingly cold, like the heart of winter in the human world, when the frost crept over every surface and even the strongest trees stood frozen in stillness. It was the kind of cold that sank deep, piercing through skin and settling into the bones, making the very air feel sharp, as if each breath might turn to ice within her lungs.
Like the coldest month in human world when the snow froze everything in sight.
She leaned on the edge of the balcony and took in the view. The green fields stretched out before her, rolling gently toward the distant walls that marked the boundaries of the palace grounds. In the gardens below, statues stood like silent sentinels among the strangely manicured hedges, their stone faces impassive, adding a quiet grandeur to the landscape. Farther off, a pool sparkled in the morning light, its water so clear she could see blue lilies floating serenely on the surface. It seemed like the sky and the water became one.
As her eyes traced over every detail of this carefully tended paradise, she felt a presence—a subtle weight, a sense of being observed. Her gaze dropped to the gardens below, and there, quietly standing, was Rael. He was watching her with an unreadable expression. Startled, Rosamila quickly looked away, her heart skipping a beat. When she dared to glance back, he was gone.
Yeap! That… the demon world can do to you. You see random things. Once they are there and the other moment they are not!
As she ended her evaluation, a voice came from her right, low and smooth. "It looks different in the daylight, doesn't it?"
She spun around, and there he was, leaning against the wall of her balcony with his arms crossed, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his lips. His dark figure was framed by the soft morning light, casting shadows across his face that made his features look sharper, more intense.
For a moment, Rosamila was struck silent. She had grown accustomed to seeing him cloaked in darkness, with the harsh, dim light of the demon lands framing him in shadows. Here, in the morning sun, he looked almost… human. Almost. His amber eyes catching the sunlight looked like molten glow with a slight purple hue.
"It's… beautiful," she replied, her voice softer than she intended.
Rael's smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming with a strange mixture of amusement and something else she couldn't quite place. "Appearance here can be deceptive, Rosamila. It's a kindness only until someone chooses not to be."
She held his gaze, her pulse quickening at the warning hidden in his tone, but also at the closeness between them. Something about his presence made her uneasy, yet it wasn't entirely unpleasant. She felt her fear of him starting to wane, just a fraction, replaced by something far more complicated.
"Well," she said, trying to sound composed, "perhaps I'll enjoy it while it lasts."
Rael straightened, stepping away from the wall. His expression softened, just barely, before he inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. "Then I suggest you take it all in, little human Rosa. You never know how long the beauty will linger." With a final, lingering look, he turned and disappeared back into the shadows of the palace, leaving her alone with the morning light and the silent, unsettling peace of the demon realm.
Little Human Rosa!
The nickname lingered in her mind for a brief moment, strangely intimate. There was something about the way he'd said it—possessive but gentle. And to her own surprise, she liked it.
"It does look different," Rosamila murmured, glancing back at the landscape before reluctantly stepping back into her room. She turned to Rael, who lingered near the balcony, watching her with his usual, unreadable intensity.
"So… what's going to happen to me now?" she asked, sitting down on the edge of her bed. She tried to keep her voice steady, but a hint of nervousness crept through.
"You will be living here, in relative comfort," Rael replied, his tone brisk, as if discussing the weather. His eyes flicked over her, studying her expression, gauging her reaction.
"So… I'm not a prisoner?" she pressed, watching him carefully.
"No," he replied simply.
Rosamila's heart lifted slightly. "Then… I can go back home?"
Rael's eyes hardened, and he shook his head. "That, you cannot. Not unless you know how to command the Spire."
Rosamila's face fell. The thought of being trapped here indefinitely, in a world so alien and cold, made her feel faint. She pressed a hand to her forehead, wincing. "I think… I think I have a headache," she mumbled. "Do you have any medicine?"
Rael's eyes softened, just a fraction. "There is no human medicine in the demon lands," he said bluntly.
Rosamila swallowed, trying to ignore the chill that was creeping through her bones. "I might be coming down with a fever," she said, coughing slightly. "It's… colder here than in the human realm."
Rael tilted his head, watching her with a faintly amused expression. "You are not ill," he said. "The change in air, the… unfamiliarity of your surroundings, and perhaps your fear are affecting you." He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. "Take a hot bath. Eat the meals prepared for you. You will feel better in time."
Just then, a small bird landed on the balcony railing, its feathers shimmering in vibrant shades of orange and gold, like a tiny phoenix. It tilted its head, watching them with intelligent, curious eyes.
"Ah, Rax is here," Rael said, his tone shifting to something more formal. "Duty calls."
Rosamila's eyes widened in surprise. "That's Rax?" she asked, remembering the monstrous creature she had encountered the night before—a hulking, fiery beast with a terrifying presence.
"Yes," Rael replied with a faint smirk. "What you saw last night was his true form. This"—he gestured toward the small bird—"is his gentler guise. Consider it… a disguise, if you will."
Then was last night a scarier guise?
Rosamila's eyes shifted from the tiny, phoenix-like bird to Rael, her expression sharpening with sudden bursts of betrayal. She took a slow breath, then asked, in a tone that was deceptively casual, "So… was last night's little horror show a lie as well?"
Rael raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a slight, amused smile. "What are you implying, little human Rosa?"
She gestured to the serene view beyond the balcony—the soft light, the gardens, the distant rolling fields. "It's just that… this morning, everything seems almost… peaceful. Beautiful, even. Not at all like the terrifying wasteland I saw last night."
She gave him a pointed look. "Did you cast some kind of illusion to make things look worse than they are?"
Rael chuckled, his eyes gleaming with faint mischief. "Very observant." He inclined his head slightly to bring it closer to Rosamila's height, a gesture that almost seemed like a small bow. "Yes, what you saw was an enchantment. We call it the Veil of Maya—a veil to amplify the fear, the prejudice, the premonition. It's a simple trick, really, meant to intimidate… or, in this case, to ensure you took your surroundings as you imagined it to be."
"So you wanted me to be scared?" Rosamila asked, crossing her arms, though there was a hint of silliness in her voice.
"Oh, certainly," he replied, his tone unapologetic. "A bit of fear keeps one alert, don't you think? I thought it would be… educational. Besides," he added, leaning in slightly, his eyes staring playfully, "it made for quite the entertaining display."
Rosamila narrowed her eyes, but she couldn't help the slight annoyance from her expression. "You demons are full of tricks, aren't you?"
Rael gave a mock bow, his smirk widening. "Only when it's necessary, little human Rosa. You may find our world is not as dark as it seemed last night—but don't be too quick to feel at ease." His eyes flashed with a hint of warning. "The shadows here can be real… and they are not always mine to control."
There was a double edge to his warning, a reminder that her safety here was tenuous, balanced on a knife's edge. But this time, she met his gaze straight, without fear.
"Duly noted," she said quietly, but firmly.
Before Rosamila could question him further, there was a knock at the door. Rael didn't look away from her, but his voice carried an unmistakable command. "Enter."
The door creaked open, and an elderly woman stepped inside. Her appearance was strikingly human—silver hair swept up in a tight bun, a face lined with age and experience—but her eyes held a depth that felt distinctly otherworldly, and a faint aura of power shimmered around her.
"This is Elot," Rael introduced, nodding toward the woman. "She will attend to you and ensure you have what you need. However, do not mistake her for your personal servant. She is the stewardess of the West Wing—and a lower demon."
Elot inclined her head slightly, her expression as still as a tomb, but Rosamila thought she sensed a flicker of irritation in those dark eyes.
Rael leaned close to Rosamila, his breath brushing her ear. "A word of advice," he murmured, his voice low. "Elot's temper is… formidable. Do not test it."
Before Rosamila could respond, Rael straightened, giving her a final look before swinging his arm and vanishing from the room, leaving her alone with Elot and the lingering echo of his warning.
Rael stood in the Demon King Arkon's library, staring out a tall, narrow window into the bright courtyard below.
"I wonder what he's going to do this time?" He exhaled deeply, his brow furrowed.
"Why does he always have to shapeshift into me?" he muttered, the words barely audible as they left his lips.
A shift in the atmosphere behind him made Rael turn. His own likeness entered the library, moving with a grace and ease that was undeniably Arkon's. In a shimmer, the illusion dissolved. Arkon straightened, adjusting the dark collar of his robes, his violet eyes gleaming with faint amusement.
Rael inclined his head deeply, a mark of respect, though his focus was sharp. "Your Majesty," he said formally, his tone restrained. "I take it that you've met with the human?"
Arkon's lips curved in a slight, knowing smirk, but he said nothing, merely smoothing an invisible crease from his sleeve. The subtle expression in his face was answer enough.
Rael took a steady breath, carefully keeping his tone neutral. "Might I ask why you felt it necessary to adopt my appearance?"
A quick laugh left the Demon King's mouth, "Because you are the only one who looks decently handsome". Rael knew Arkon always felt competitive when it came to their looks. "You mean to say, more handsome than you."
Arkon finally looked at him, his eyes glinting with a calculated coldness. "More human looking. Because I need her to fear me when she sees me," he said, each word deliberate and precise. "But I also need to understand her origins, her motives, without that fear clouding her every response." He paused, his gaze drifting slightly as he considered his next words. "I'll play the part of her ally—as you. A familiar face, someone she might trust. Someone who looks like he can be kind. Close to a human. Unless, of course, you object?"
Rael inclined his head, his voice steady. "Your Majesty's will is absolute. My form is yours to use as you see fit."
A flicker of satisfaction crossed Arkon's face, and he nodded. "Good," he said, his tone clipped. "Now, I want you to go to the human world. I need details—everything about her human life. Her past, her present, her future." He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, "Anything that might explain why she was chosen."
Rael placed a hand over his chest in a respectful bow. "As you command."
With a sweep of his hand, Rael's clothing transformed, his dark robes replaced by the simple attire of a traveling merchant.
With a final, respectful nod, Rael vanished from the library.
In Rosamila's chamber, Elot's sharp eyes took in Rosamila's state without a word, then gestured briskly for her to follow. Two younger servant girls appeared at the doorway, bowing slightly before leading Rosamila down a winding corridor. They walked in silence, the only sound the soft padding of their feet against the cold stone floor.
Eventually, they arrived at a large, ornate door carved with delicate, swirling patterns that seemed to shift as Rosamila looked at them. Elot opened the door and ushered her into the bath chamber—a vast space filled with steam and the scent of unfamiliar herbs. A large, sunken pool dominated the center, the water dark and inviting, dotted with floating flowers that glowed faintly. Their petals were a deep, fiery red, almost as if they had been plucked from flames.
"These are fireflowers," Elot said briskly, noticing Rosamila's curious gaze. "They hold heat and will keep the water warm for as long as you soak. They're also good for the skin."
Rosamila felt herself relax slightly. She allowed the servant girls to help her undress, brush her long red hairs into a lose bun. Then she stepped down into the pool, feeling the heat of the water seep into her bones. She let out a soft sigh, sinking deeper, letting the warmth envelop her. The fireflowers drifted around her, brushing against her skin, leaving a faint tingling sensation.
The steam rose in gentle curls, filling the air with a soothing warmth that eased her tension. As she leaned back, closing her eyes, she could almost forget where she was. For a moment, surrounded by warmth and silence, she felt a sliver of calm, a reprieve from the uncertainty and fear that had plagued her since her arrival.
The servant girls silent and attentive, left the chamber and Rosamila drifted, letting the bath work its magic. The world outside—the dark palaces, the strange eyes watching her, even Rael's unsettling presence that seemed distant last night but so invasive just moments ago, softened by the gentle heat of the water and the scent of the fireflowers.
Suddenly, a low chuckle broke the quiet, startling her awake. She blinked, looking across the bath, where a man with bright blue eyes and flowing blonde hair sat casually by the edge, watching her with an amused smile.
"Who would have thought," he drawled, his voice laced with mockery. "That a human would receive such superior treatment here."
Rosamila froze, instinctively pulling the fireflowers closer to cover herself. "Who… who are you?" she managed, her voice wavering.
The man's grin widened. "This human speaks," he said, clearly entertained. "I still remember the screams of the last one we had here. Humans are such fragile creatures."
Determined to hide her fear, Rosamila straightened, meeting his gaze with as much composure as she could muster. "I assume you must be another Demon Lord," she said, forcing confidence into her voice. "But don't you know it's improper to intrude on a lady's bath? Or do demons have no manners?"
The demon's expression shifted, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. Then he chuckled again, clearly amused by her defiance. "You're right. And it's also considered rude not to introduce oneself." He flicked his fingers, and to Rosamila's shock, the water around her began to stir. The fireflowers and the bathwater itself wrapped around her, lifting her gently out of the pool. Suspended in a cocoon of warm water, she found herself drifting toward him, unable to move, her heart pounding in her chest.
As she floated to the edge, he reached out and took her hand, pressing a light, mocking kiss to her knuckles. "I am Zalmar, demon lord of the Synths," he said, his blue eyes glinting with mischief.
She took a steadying breath, withdrawing her hand as gracefully as she could. "Rosamila Fairfield, sister to Elva. And human." She managed a slight smile. "It's… a pleasure."
Zalmar tilted his head, studying her with open curiosity. "You know, for a human, your eyes are unusually bright," he remarked, squinting slightly as though trying to decipher her face. "Pity they're such a dull, muddy green."
Rosamila felt a flare of irritation but forced herself to remain calm. "Thank you for the compliment, I suppose. They may be 'dull' to you, but they remind me of my mother. Like moss on old wood," she said, her voice steady. She looked him straight in the eye. "And to me, they're beautiful."
Zalmar raised an eyebrow, as though intrigued by her defiance. "Interesting. And your nose… small and round. Is that considered attractive in your world?"
Rosamila resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She realized with growing exasperation that demons, for all their power, seemed to know very little about humans. "It's a good size," she replied, a touch annoyed. "But I'd prefer to continue this conversation when I'm a bit more… presentable."
Before she could say anything further, the door to the bathhouse opened, and Elot entered, bowing deeply. "Your Grace," she murmured, acknowledging Zalmar with a respectful nod.
Zalmar cast Rosamila one last lingering look, his eyes raking over her from head to toe with an amused smirk. With a flick of his fingers, the water and fireflowers released her, and she splashed back into the pool with a quiet gasp.
"You're right, pretty human," Zalmar said, his voice dripping with amusement. "We'll continue this later." He rose gracefully to his feet, giving her a final, mocking bow before he turned and left, disappearing down the hall.
Elot stepped forward as soon as he was gone. "Oh, dear. Let me help you," she murmured, her tone surprisingly gentle as she extended a hand.
After a long, luxurious bath, Rosamila was dressed in the latest demon fashion—a striking ensemble that seemed crafted to blend elegance with power. The demons had done their best to style her human frame as close to their own standards as they could manage, though she felt the weight of every foreign fabric against her skin.
The inner dress clung softly to her body, woven with glinting threads of gold and silver that caught the light and shimmered with a strange, otherworldly iridescence. The fabric shifted colors subtly as she moved, gliding from deep emerald to midnight blue, creating an effect that was both enchanting and unsettling. The collar was high and sharp, framing her neck in a way that made her feel both regal and restrained.
Draped over this was a dark red velvet robe, rich and lush, trimmed in delicate embroidery that seemed to pulse faintly, as if alive with hidden magic. The robe swept all the way to the ground, trailing slightly behind her as she walked, its weight grounding her in this unfamiliar place. Tiny gemstones were sewn into the edges, catching glimmers of light and creating the illusion of embers flickering along the hem.
Looking at her reflection in the polished glass, Rosamila barely recognized herself. She appeared almost like one of them—a creature of mystery and allure, cloaked in elegance and danger. And yet, despite the fine fabrics and careful styling, there was no mistaking her as anything but human, her softer lines and warm eyes a contrast to the demon finery that enveloped her.
The servants escorted her back to her room, where an array of dishes had been laid out in her dining area. Lifting the covers, she discovered a selection of soups, strange meats, and dishes that seemed to feature… bones, eyes, and even brains. She felt her stomach turn slightly at the sight, realizing that these must be demon delicacies. But they were a far cry from anything she could imagine eating.
Worn out, Rosamila decided to skip the strange meal and rest instead. She lay down on her enormous bed, the silk sheets cool against her skin, and before she knew it, she drifted off into a deep sleep.
As Rosamila slept, Demon King Arkon appeared from thin air, materializing silently beside her bed. His presence filled the room, casting a faint ripple of power through the air. For a long moment, he simply watched her, his violet eyes narrowed in quiet contemplation as he took in the delicate lines of her face, her skin so pale it almost seemed to glow in the dim light.
Arkon leaned closer, studying her with an intensity that bordered on fascination. Gently, almost curiously, he reached out and let his fingers brush her cheek. Her skin was warm and impossibly soft beneath his touch. A stark contrast to the hardened texture of his own. She felt fragile, like she might shatter at any moment, and yet there was a resilience in the faint flush of her cheeks, in the steady rise and fall of her breathing.
His gaze moved to her hair, a vivid red that reminded him of autumn leaves and firelight—so unlike the dark shades of his own realm. Carefully, he lifted a strand between his fingers, letting it slide over his skin. The color was strange, mesmerizing even, and he found himself smirking slightly at the novelty of it.
Soon, he found himself close enough to catch the scent of her skin—a soft, elusive aroma of milk and flowers, delicate yet intoxicatingly rich. It clung to her like a veil, warm and inviting. Utterly foreign to the smell of his own kind.
Demons carried the scent of fire—of embers still aglow, of charred wood and heated metal. But humans—humans smelled alive. Rosamila smelled alive.
Arkon tried to pull himself away but the sweetness of her blood teased the air, a syrupy undercurrent that made his mouth dry. Human blood has always been a delicacy for the Demon Royals but he never believed it would make resistance so difficult.
How different she was, this human, in every way.
Arkon closed his eyes briefly, focusing, and in that stillness he could hear the faint rhythm of her heartbeat, fluttering softly in her chest. It was quick and light, the sound of something vulnerable. His own heart beat slowly, powerfully. Listening to her, he felt a peculiar sense of amusement—she was so small, so temporary, like a candle flickering against the vast darkness of his world.
Arkon's chest rumbled softly with a sound that was neither a growl nor a sigh. His hand hovered near her throat, where he could feel the faint thrum of her pulse even without touching her.
His gaze drifted to the table, where plates of untouched food lay waiting. His jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. Did she intend to waste away these carefully selected feast? He muttered something under his breath, a harsh, low sound, before straightening and moving toward the door.
With a flick of his fingers, he summoned Elot, his silent footsteps echoing down the hall as he strode away. This human would have to learn to survive here—she was of no use to him if she was too weak to endure.
"Make sure the human has access to the kitchens," he ordered her curtly. "Let her prepare her own meals if she wishes. She's no good to me if she starves to death."
When Rosamila awoke, the sky outside her window had deepened to twilight. Her head felt heavy, and she realized with a start that she was starving. She called out for Elot, but there was no answer. After a moment of hesitation, she left her room and wandered down the dimly lit hallway, her footsteps echoing through the quiet.
Eventually, she found the kitchen, a cavernous room filled with unfamiliar ingredients and an assortment of gleaming utensils. She spotted a few things she recognized—vegetables, spices, and, to her relief, a plump, raw chicken. Deciding on a simple stew, she began to work, cutting up the ingredients with practiced efficiency. The scent of cooking filled the air, warm and comforting, reminding her of home.
Just as she finished and took a small taste, a deep voice spoke from behind her. "That smells like heaven."
Startled, she turned to find a large, broad-shouldered man standing in the doorway, his gray eyes warm with interest. He had a thick beard, a tired but kind smile, and a presence that seemed almost gentle—an odd contrast to the other demons she'd encountered.
"Would you like to try some?" she offered, feeling strangely at ease with him. After all, she was getting used to demons appearing unexpectedly.
The demon's eyes lit up, and he nodded eagerly. "Yes, please. It looks very tempting. But… I don't think it's enough for the both of us."
Amused, Rosamila ladled a small bowl for herself and handed him the rest of the pot. He took it gratefully, and without another word, began to eat with surprising enthusiasm.
As she tasted her own bowl, she felt her strength slowly returning. The familiar flavors and warmth of the stew steadied her, easing the weariness that had been clinging to her since her arrival in this realm.
"So, what kind of demon are you?" she asked, breaking the silence.
He paused, wiping his mouth before answering. "I am Gabal, leader of the Najs." He looked down at her, his gray eyes twinkling with amusement. "And you are… Rosamila, the human. Right?"
She nodded, intrigued. "Should I be calling you 'Your Grace' as well?"
Gabal chuckled, a rich, warm sound. "If you wish to follow demon customs, yes. But because you cooked me a meal, which I happen to like very much, you may call me Gabal." He smiled, surprising her with his easygoing nature.
Rosamila found herself smiling back. She poured a glass of water and turned to offer it to him, but when she looked, he had vanished, leaving only the empty pot behind.
Shaking her head in bemusement, she made her way back to her room. But as she passed a door near the end of the corridor, a faint light caught her attention. She paused, hearing low voices from within.
"Why are you eating human food?" one voice asked, irritated.
"It smelled great," the second voice replied defensively. "You know how much I love human food."
"But we don't get cozy with the sacrifice," the first voice snapped.
Rosamila's blood ran cold.
Sacrifice. That's what I am here.
Suddenly, the voices stopped. "Did you hear that?" the first voice whispered, and she heard footsteps approaching the door.
Heart racing, Rosamila clapped a hand over her mouth, trying not to make a sound. But her body betrayed her; the weakness that had plagued her since her arrival in this world crept up again, and the edges of her vision began to blur.
As she fell, a pair of strong arms caught her, lifting her as if she weighed nothing. She blinked, dazed and barely-conscious, as her head lolled back, her vision settling on the sharp, unyielding violet eyes.
"Who knew this little human Rosa had so much courage to roam around the demon palace," he murmured, a smirk curving his lips as he began carrying her back toward her room.
From inside the room, Rael noticed Arkon walking past with the unconscious Rosamila cradled in his arms, a faint smirk playing on the Demon King's lips. Through the gap in the door, Gabal caught sight of them as well, his eyes narrowing with curiosity. Quickly, Rael stepped forward to block Gabal's line of sight, his own eyes narrowing in warning.
"Shouldn't you be attending to your duties?" Rael's voice was cold, his expression tense.
Gabal raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, but shrugged and looked away. Satisfied, Rael watched him disappear down the hall, all the while keeping his face impassive, hiding the flicker of unease he felt. The last thing he wanted was for Gabal to see the Demon King showing any hint of concern for the human.