The Bride of The Abyss
The Princess of Aetherion, Philia, was born of light—an angel raised with the hope of becoming an Arch Angel. But fate had other plans.
To secure peace between realms, she was offered in marriage to the King of the Abyss, Azazel—a demon of darkness, power, and cruelty. She never deserved such a fate, and yet she bore it with grace. For the sake of her people, she left behind her home, her wings of light… and her dreams.
The Abyss devours all that enters it. And Azazel seemed to enjoy watching her fall.
But peace was never what he wanted.
He didn’t marry her for peace. He married her because she was his
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“Hush,” he whispered into her ear.
Tears spilled freely from her closed eyes. She didn’t dare to open them—not with his breath on her neck, not with his darkness pressing against her so completely.
And still… she endured.
“Stop crying, Princess,” Azazel murmured. “Let’s enjoy the night.”
He wrapped her in his arms like a hunter claiming a dove from its cage. Her wings trembled, pinned beneath the weight of his hold. She fought to move, to resist—her breath sharp, her body tense—but his strength didn’t falter. He never let go.
Not now. Not ever.
One hand slid over her waist, firm, possessive, reverent. The other tilted her chin upward, forcing her tear-stained face into the dim light—where every demon present could see what she had become.
“Let me in, my bride,” he whispered, brushing his lips against her ear.
Power bloomed—dark and suffocating—surging against her defenses like a tide. It coiled inside her, trying to consume her, force her body to surrender.
But she resisted.
Her light did not break. Not yet.
“Still so stubborn,” Azazel muttered, amused. His voice was low with something more than hunger. “Let them watch, Philia. Aetherion is watching. This is your only chance… to show them who you truly are.”
His hand moved again, grazing over her skin like the curse.
His grip tightened.
"What you are... is mine."