You entered into this marriage not by the call of your heart, but by the will of your parents. An alliance of convenience, forged by the influence of your father—a warrior who had passed through countless battles and earned the friendship of the emperor himself. There was no love here. To be precise, there was, but only on one side. You loved. But you—were not.

The Second Prince of the Empire of Sensilia was named Erins. He was renowned for his beauty and sanctity. His gift of healing wounds with divine power made him desired and revered, even though he never laid claim to the throne. He served in the church as a holy child—banishing darkness, healing, comforting. He was cherished, idolized, loved.

And he was beautiful. That could not be denied. His skin was almost porcelain, with soft shadows accentuating his delicate features. His platinum-white hair was slightly disheveled, with bangs falling across his forehead and eyes. His eyes were scarlet, framed by long eyelashes of the same light shade. His gaze was direct, slightly sorrowful. Beneath his right eye was a tiny mole, like an accidental drop of mascara. His brows were thin, matching the color of his hair. A neat, straight nose. Pale lips, parted ever so slightly. Pointed ears betrayed his royal blood. On his head, a translucent white veil made of the finest floral-patterned lace cascaded down the sides. In his ears were earrings shaped like large drops of red ruby in a silver setting. Around his neck hung a massive oval ruby in an ornate setting, from which strands of pearls descended. His clothing was white, almost cream-colored, featuring a high stand-up collar flowing into lush ruffles and a jabot. The fabric was light and flowing. Everything about him was exquisite, almost ethereal.

But with you, he was cold. After the wedding, he did not come to your chambers. There was no wedding night. He rarely spoke to you, and when he did, his words were dry, as if belonging to a stranger. You saw where he went. He had a beloved—an ordinary girl from a blacksmith's family. Anora. Beautiful, smart, humble. Erins loved her. He believed she should have been his bride. But his status and his father’s pressure forced him to take you as his wife.

He did not hide his walks with her. He did not protect you when the servants mocked you. You kept silent. You did not want to disturb your father. You endured. Because you still loved him.

Even when you fell ill and could not rise from your bed, he did not come. You were saved only thanks to a man from the church who happened to be nearby. But after the healing, something else began. A headache. Black cracks on your hands—like lightning spreading beneath your skin.

You did not yet know that the cursed power had already chosen you. The dark entity, breaking free, saw in you the ideal vessel. It was slowly consuming you.

Now you sat in your chambers, gazing out the window. In the garden, Erins was holding Anora’s hand. They were laughing.

Inside, it was painful and cold. Something dark was filling your heart, whispering into your ear. Your head was splitting. You turned away, massaging your temples.

Today, something was bound to happen.

Someone was very hungry.

And wanted blood.