In Caeslencrest Vale, brides were taught to protect their wedding dresses with all their might. A torn corner or a wrinkle could mean bad luck for their marriage.
For every Crestorian bride, the wedding dress symbolized the beginning of their new life. It had to be perfect.
But for Seraphina Evercrest, everything had already gone wrong.
She clutched the torn fabric of her wedding dress, the deep scar on the once-beautiful gown reflecting the terrible truth of her situation.
Lysander Celestis stepped closer, his eyes glinting with cold amusement.
"What do you want?" Seraphina's voice trembled with anger as she looked up at him, feeling both trapped and humiliated.
Behind her was the edge of the bed, offering no escape. She had nowhere left to run.
Lysander sneered at the sight of her ruined dress, then threw the half he was holding onto the floor, stepping on it without care.
"What else can I do, Seraphina?" he mocked, his voice laced with cruel humor. "I'm here to spend the bridal night with you."
Seraphina felt her breath catch in her throat. Her heart raced, and cold sweat beaded on her back.
The words he spoke twisted in her mind. She had hoped for a peaceful marriage, but instead, her worst fears were being realized.
"You can't seriously think I married you for fun, do you?" Lysander's voice was low and dangerous as he stepped closer, his long fingers brushing the side of her cheek.
Seraphina recoiled at the touch, but Lysander only leaned in further, his face inches from hers.
His hands, calloused from years of archery, made her skin crawl. They were stained with the blood of many, the blood of soldiers and innocents alike, all for his ambition.
Her stomach churned with disgust. She turned her head sharply, her lips pressed tightly together, trying to fight back the nausea.
Lysander, noticing her reaction, smiled darkly and pressed even closer.
His breath was warm against her ear as he whispered, "Ah, the night is still young, my dear wife. A moment of spring night, just for you."
Before he could finish his cruel sentence, Seraphina acted on instinct. With a strength she didn't know she had, she shoved him away and bolted for the door.
She moved fast, like a frightened rabbit, desperate to escape. Her feet barely touched the floor as she raced toward freedom. But Lysander was ready.
He grabbed her by the waist with an iron grip, lifting her off the ground before she could make it past the threshold.
"Where do you think you're going?" he growled.
Seraphina gasped in panic as he threw her onto the bed. The impact rattled her body, and her head collided with the edge of the bed.
Pain exploded through her skull, and she gasped for air, feeling dizzy and disoriented.
Her vision blurred, and a sharp ache spread across her forehead, making everything seem far away.
"Think you can escape?" Lysander's cold voice slithered into her ears. "Watch closely, Seraphina. Your family will pay for your disobedience. I'll make sure every last one of them suffers—especially your father."
The words struck like a knife in her chest.
Seraphina felt her heart drop into her stomach, the weight of his threat suffocating her. Her father, Duke Evercrest, had always been a man of honor.
The thought that Lysander might harm him filled her with a deep, searing fear.
She clenched her fists, but the terror in her eyes betrayed her.
Lysander looked down at her, his eyes cold and cruel, the faintest trace of disgust flickering in his gaze.
He leaned down, his hand gripping her delicate shirt.
"Lysander Celestis, you're shameless!"
Seraphina's voice cracked with fury, hot tears rolling down her cheeks.
Blood from the cut on her forehead dripped slowly onto the pillow beneath her, staining it with a grotesque mix of sorrow and pain.
He smiled, his expression chilling.
"Shameless? You dare lecture me, Seraphina?" His voice was sharp, mocking. "The most shameless person in this world is your father, who sold his master out for power. You all think you're above the law."
With that, Lysander ripped at her shirt, his movements fast and ruthless. The fabric tore easily under his forceful hands, leaving red marks where it scratched her skin.
Seraphina's body burned with both physical pain and the humiliation of being powerless in his grasp.
The blood from her forehead mixed with the tears on her pillow, each drop a reminder of how far she had fallen.
The warmth of her blood felt like fire, contrasting with the coldness of Lysander's eyes.
So that was it. That was why he had ruined her reputation so thoroughly a month ago, preventing her from ever marrying the prince.
He was seeking revenge on the Evercrest family.
Seraphina Evercrest suddenly let out a bitter laugh, her heart freezing as she did. It was clear now—she was finished.
There would be no way out tonight. It was over.
Lysander watched her with cold detachment, noting her miserable, humiliated state. A flicker of hesitation crossed his dark, jade-like eyes.
But it quickly disappeared, swallowed by the bitterness of years of resentment. He averted his gaze, not able to bear looking at her any longer.
Seraphina bit her lower lip, drawing a thin line of blood. She didn't utter a word, though her pain echoed in the silence around them.
Her tears dripped down onto the pillow beneath her, soaking into the delicate embroidered pattern of the mandarin ducks.
The weight of her despair pressed down on her like a suffocating mountain, the small spark of hope in her heart extinguishing with every cruel action of his.
In her mind, the face of Leander Celestis flashed—guilt and warmth in his eyes.
"Seraphina," he had said gently, "I'm sorry. The rumors... they've spread throughout the capital. My parents will not approve of our marriage. You... you should be with my second brother. He'll treat you better than I could."
His words replayed in her mind: "Lysander... he's cold on the outside but warm on the inside. He said himself that he liked you. It's rare for a proud man like him to feel that way for a woman."
She had wanted to argue, wanted to scream that it wasn't true. Lysander didn't care for her—not in the way he claimed.
Everything he said was a lie. But now, as she looked at the man who had once been like a pure lily—gentle and sincere—she realized it was all gone.
His back turned, his once-gentle demeanor now just a shadow. No more hope. No more warmth.
Perhaps, she thought bitterly, it had always been a dream. Such a beautiful man could never have been hers.
She, Seraphina Evercrest, the daughter of the former queen, Gwyneth Evercrest, had been scorned and betrayed by everyone in the capital.
"What are you thinking about?" Lysander snapped, his grip tightening on her delicate neck, pulling her from her thoughts.
Seraphina's eyes flew open, filled with pain and hatred. Fate had led her to this moment, and she had nothing left to say.
"Wondering if Leander will come to your rescue?" His voice was close to her ear, his breath hot against her trembling lips.
The air between them was thick with tension—his proximity intoxicating yet repulsive. Seraphina felt nothing but disgust.
She met his gaze coldly, her lips pressed together tightly.
Her eyes, once full of softness, now burned with an intensity that startled Lysander.
They were not the eyes of a timid, powerless woman.
For a moment, doubt flickered in his chest. But he quickly dismissed it, sneering. "Don't even think about it. Leander, that weakling, will never come to save you. He's nothing more than a flower nurtured by that witch, the Queen. He's good for nothing but reciting poetry and writing couplets. He's too polite to raise a sword, too scared to do anything. How could he possibly avenge you?"
Lysander's hands tightened further around her throat, the pressure building slowly, as if he were willing to snap her neck at any moment.
Seraphina, struggling for breath, forced the words out through a rasping voice: "But... he is... better than you! He will always be... a noble prince! And you... you're just... a son abandoned by the emperor."
Her words struck him like a blow. Lysander's pupils contracted, and his whole body tensed.
The oppressive aura that surrounded him grew darker, bloodlust radiating from him as his hands tightened, choking the last bit of life from her.
"You think you can provoke me with your words?" He sneered, watching her slowly suffocate. "Do you think you're in a position to speak? Do you believe it? This night will be your last. By this time next year, no one will even remember your name."
Seraphina's vision began to fade, her body going limp.
The red glow from the dragon and phoenix candles flickered in the dim room, their light reflecting off the blood-red decorations that adorned the space.
The word "happiness" seemed like an ironic mockery, twisted by the cruelty of the moment.
As her vision blurred and her consciousness slipped away, she closed her eyes one last time.
All she could see was the blood-red light—the last reflection of her shattered hopes—before she was swallowed by the abyss.