~MARIELLA~
"You will be dearly missed, my love."
My stepmother's voice dripped with false sympathy as she pressed a white lace handkerchief to her dry eyes. If I didn't know better, I'd think she was actually grieving.
I met her gaze, forcing a small, curt smile. "I will miss you too, mother."
She tilted her head, a pleased little smirk tugging at her lips. She expected me to be obedient until the very end, to play my part in this grand performance, no matter how much it tore me apart inside.
Since this curse started 12 years ago, she had been insufferable. She used my condition to gain pity and attention wherever we went. And as the curse worsened, I had heard her beg the gods to take my life quickly and put them out of their misery.
I turned away before I said something that would ruin her perfect evening.
The ballroom was suffocating, filled with bodies draped in expensive silks and glittering jewels. The air was thick with the scent of perfume and wine, the sound of forced laughter ringing in my ears.
Gold chandeliers cast a warm glow over the sea of guests, their faces bright with joy.
They were celebrating.
Celebrating me.
Celebrating my death.
My stomach twisted, but I forced myself to move through the crowd, my gown trailing behind me like a ghost.
No one stopped to speak to me. No one met my eyes. But their whispers followed me like shadows, curling around me like a second skin.
I can't blame them. My scaly and pale skin wasn't a sight one would expect to see at such a grand event.
I wasn't a daughter. I wasn't a girl. I was a spectacle, a tragic story they would recall over tea and biscuits in the coming days.
I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat.
Does it really have to be this way?
The question had haunted me for years. Since the first time I had collapsed, shivering and drenched in sweat. Since my skin had started peeling, the sickness growing worse with each passing year. Since I had realized that no one—not even my own father—would try to save me.
I wove through the guests, heart pounding as I searched for my father.
It didn't take long to find him. The center of attention, as always.
He was laughing, his deep voice carrying over the music as he spoke to a group of men dressed in regal attire. His laugh was warm and genuine. The kind I had once longed to hear directed at me.
Then his gaze flickered past his guests and went straight to me.
His smile immediately vanished.
The air between us turned heavy, thick with unspoken words.
I lifted my chin, forcing myself to hold his gaze. Acknowledge me, I silently willed. Just once. Tell me this is all a mistake. That I don't have to die.
Or at least… that you'll miss me when I'm gone.
But I already knew the answer.
His expression hardened. He turned away, replacing his frown with a bright smile as he returned to his conversation.
"Father," I called out, my voice breaking.
He stiffened. Slowly, he turned to me, his face twisting in irritation.
"It's almost midnight."
A flicker of mixed emotions crossed his face. It looked like annoyance, maybe even disgust.
"What is it?" he seethed, his voice low and sharp.
The words felt like a slap.
I clenched my fists, forcing the tremble from my voice to become steady. "I wanted to give you a hug before I—"
His hand shot up, silencing me.
"You are making the guests uncomfortable, Mariella." His voice was laced with quiet rage. "Go to your room."
The world went silent.
My heart hammered violently in my chest.
I was stuck between anger, pain, and something worse—emptiness.
I wasn't going to be here by morning. All I wanted was to know what it felt like to be held by my father. Just once, I wanted to feel what comfort was like.
But I had asked for too much again.
The tears threatened to fall, but I refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing me break.
I turned on my heels and bolted past the sea of guests, heading toward the empty balcony.
I needed fresh air. I needed escape.
And I needed wine.
The cold night air bit at my skin as I grabbed my fifth glass of wine from a servant's tray and chugged it down.
The burn felt good. Numb. That's what I needed to be right now.
I reached for another, but before I could take a sip, a deep, masculine voice cut through the night.
"A woman shouldn't drink like that."
I scoffed and ignored him, grabbing the entire bottle from the servant's hands.
Before I could take a swig, a strong hand shot out and knocked the bottle from my grasp.
Glass shattered against the stone floor.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" I snapped, my voice slurred with wine and anger.
"You are very uncultured and untrained," the man rebuked, his tone laced with arrogance.
I finally turned to look at him and immediately, I wished I hadn't.
He was tall with dark hair tousled from the wind. His eyes looked like they could see my soul and his scent was thick and fragrant, an odd mix of tobacco and vanilla.
I tried to walk past him, but he grabbed my wrist, pulling me back.
"Nobody walks out on me," he growled.
I gasped as he closed the space between us, his body heat rolling off him in waves.
We were too close.
His hot minty breath fanned against my lips.
My mind screamed for me to run but I didn't move.
"Go fuck yourself," I whispered, my voice trembling.
His lips curled into a smirk. "Wouldn't you prefer I fucked you instead, Princess?"
My mouth went dry.
Heat coiled in my stomach, and for the first time in my life, I wasn't sure if it was from anger or something else entirely.
His large hand wrapped around my neck, firm but not suffocating. His thumb traced the column of my throat, sending a violent shudder down my spine.
Then, without warning, he kissed me.
His lips crushed against mine, searing, claiming.
I should have pulled away.
But I didn't.
I melted into his touch, into the way his free hand roughly gripped my backside and traced the slit of my dress.
The world spun around me. Nothing else existed.
The loud ringing of bells snapped me back to reality.
My blood turned to ice.
I pulled away, gasping. My entire body trembled violently as an overwhelming sensation overtook me.
No. No, no, no.
Not yet.
Tears spilled down my cheeks as my vision blurred.
This was it. The end.
"Is everything alright?" the man asked, reaching for me.
I stumbled back, my legs weak, my breath shallow.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice barely audible.
I turned and ran, ignoring his voice calling after me.
I had minutes...seconds left.
And there was nothing I could do to stop what was coming.