Was this how it was going to end?
Would she finally die tonight?
Perhaps she should have died long ago.
A cursed existence, an ominous person like her, what else did she deserve?
...
Blood. Blood was everywhere.
A roaring sea of fire consumed the grand palace, its spires engulfed in crimson flames that painted the night sky.
The air reeked of smoke and death as panicked servants fled, their desperate cries filling the air.
Some didn't make it far; soldiers stormed in, blades flashing mercilessly.
Blood pooled at her feet, stretching endlessly, staining everything in its path.
She stood frozen, her mind blank, her heart hollow.
Suddenly, a scream broke through the chaos.
"Sera!"
She spun around, her eyes wide with fear.
...
Lysander Celestis stared down at her, his expression unreadable but his eyes cold.
He seemed almost disappointed as her body went limp, her struggles ceasing. For a moment, something flickered in his gaze, anger?
Frustration?
But just as quickly, it was gone.
With a sneer, he released her.
Seraphina Evercrest collapsed onto the bed, gasping for air.
The rush of oxygen burned her lungs, and she clutched her chest, coughing violently.
"Cough... cough..."
Lysander gave her no time to recover. Before she could steady herself, his hand shot out, seizing her delicate wrist.
He twisted it cruelly, pinning her against the headboard.
"You think you can die so easily?" His voice was low, venomous, a stark contrast to the furious grip of his hands. "It's not that simple, Seraphina. You've only just begun to atone."
His strength increased, and Seraphina cried out in pain, her pale face contorting as tears streamed down her cheeks.
Her body trembled like a fragile leaf in the storm, but his grip didn't waver.
The night dragged on, endless and unforgiving.
...
The hibiscus-patterned canopy swayed gently above them, a stark mockery of warmth and tenderness.
Seraphina lay motionless, her gaze fixed blankly on the tent's intricate embroidery.
She had never imagined her wedding night would unfold like this.
No oaths of love.
No gentle words.
No shred of dignity left untouched.
Instead, she was trapped in a relentless nightmare, her cries of mercy echoing unanswered in the darkness.
Beside her, Lysander's breathing was slow and even, a sharp contrast to the turmoil raging within her.
Hours had passed, minutes?
Seconds?
Time had lost all meaning.
Finally, she mustered the strength to sit up, her body aching with every movement.
Purple and blue bruises marked her pale skin, like jagged remnants of his cruelty.
Each mark was a curse, an eternal reminder of his scorn.
She could still hear his voice, sharp and merciless, haunting her:
"Seraphina, do you think I married you out of love? I married you to disgrace the Wei family. Your father, that conniving traitor who betrayed his master for power, he dared to dream of wealth and glory by offering you to the Prince. Foolish. Dream on."
His words echoed in her mind, intertwining with her humiliation.
She turned her head toward the crumpled wedding gown lying on the floor.
Its once-vibrant red fabric now seemed garish, taunting her. Like a broken butterfly, its beauty was ruined, reduced to shreds.
Moving as if in a trance, Seraphina retrieved a thin, worn undershirt from the wardrobe. She slipped it on, ignoring the sting of her bruised skin.
Then, barefoot and unsteady, she stepped out into the cold night.
The world outside was silent, yet she felt no peace.
Everything was gone.
Her life, her family's honor, even the fragile dignity she had clung to, it was all shattered, trampled beneath Lysander's cruelty.
And her whispered pleas for mercy had only driven him further, breaking her again and again, until there was nothing left.
Lysander Celestis lay on the grand bed, his breathing even and deep. Yet, behind his closed eyes, his mind refused to quiet.
Slowly, he opened them, the dim light casting long shadows over his face.
For a fleeting moment, his gaze darted to the door, where Seraphina Evercrest had disappeared moments ago.
Should he go after her?
Should he pull her back from the brink of despair?
A flicker of hesitation crossed his expression, but it quickly turned cold. He closed his eyes again, his jaw tightening.
Why bother?
She was just the daughter of a shameless man. If she couldn't survive this, then perhaps it was better if she didn't live at all.
With that thought, he forced himself into a restless sleep.
...