But most importantly, I was dangerously obsessed.
“No,” I defied him with a quivering voice.
Approaching midnight, fairy-tale princesses ran home to let the monsters own the night.
But I was no princess, after all.
I was the Witch.
No.
I inspired awe and terror in everybody. I was the one they called Monster behind my back but bowed to in front. Humans were cowards. I wouldn’t complain—I gladly took advantage of their sins, building an empire on their weaknesses.
Nowas a word a wise person would never dare to speak to me. And yet, that woman stood there with a confidence and determination I’d never met in any being. She knew who I was. Her body language betrayed her—fists locked, body shaking, breaths shaky and short to the point she was suffocating in her corset.
Prey.
From the moment I laid eyes upon her, I concluded she had nothing to do with my world. That ridiculous white floral dress screamed of innocence in a place where people crave purity to corrupt. Needless to say, she was in her early twenties, ignorant, and clearly hadn’t seen much of the world judging by her cursed curiosity.
But despite all those weaknesses, she was dead set on challenging me, feeding my inner demons.
“Get out. I won’t repeat this again.” I wasn’t known to be patient, clement, or easily entertained. I was most of the time bored, reading through each person’s soul with disturbing ease, predicting their reactions and shameless desires.
She averted her gaze to the ground, probably wishing she’d find a way out from this nightmare. From me. After panting breaths, she raised her head and drowned her eyes in mine.
Sweetheart, you’re in for a fright.
Her pulse throbbing in her throat, she licked her glossy, sultry mouth, struggling to untie her mask with her delicate hands. My lips pulled into a snarl—she was predictable, after all. Women’s beauty had never gotten to me. I wasn’t that weak. I knew the reason for their attention was because they wanted a bite of the power I conveyed. If you wanted to rule the underworld, you needed to deliver sins, not consume them—and none of them enraptured me to the point of consumption.
“I was just intrigued by the odor of this flower. I’ve never smelled anything like it. It’s fascinating. There is something special, I just know it, and—” She smiled coyly to herself, her eyes sparkling with joyful infatuation. “I’m a perfumer. I mean, I want to be.”
“Really,” I hissed ironically.
“Yes. It’s my dream. A family legacy in a way.” She confided in me, even though I didn’t know what gave her the impression I cared about any of this.
Nevertheless, my eyes latched onto her, intrigued. Everything about Ravencliff Manor was the epitome of ugly: from the place itself, to the depraved crowd, to that repulsive corpse flower. But just like the manor, it had a somber history.
A part of my forgotten soul was left in there.
The Devil’s Corpse was one of the rarest flowers in the world. No one succeeded in extracting the scent of it without losing its power. All the men I’d employed had been all useless—especially the last one, Eugene Edmond. I’d been told it was rotten, with no hope for transformation. An indomitable spectacle. A mixture of power and monstrousness.
Hope wasn’t allowed.
“I’m sorry, I was out of bounds,” she added, finishing her discourse.
When she removed her mask and dropped it on the floor, my trousers became immediately tighter.Well, I’ll be damned.I wasn’t expecting her to entice this kind of chemical reaction nor that unwelcome bulge.
Her long, temptress hair waltzed with the draft in my direction, intoxicating me with her seductive perfume of pumpkin pie and something sweeter, perhaps rose. Her brown copper hair, the color between bronze and caramel, tumbling over her breasts was enough to make my muscles stiff.
Her fiery eyes bewitched me, brushing over my skin in a submissive way. She took my silence for punishment, playing the lost doe whilst her physical traits showed her as a predator.
A fantasy coming right from my dreams.
I thought the universe was playing a twisted joke on me.
Only the ugly and corrupt entered those doors.
She wasn’t—or if she was, she was the sweetest of the abominations.
