Chapter 1: Prologue
After some time, she stirred, her eyes fluttering open. The faint pink glow in her irises caught the dim light of the room, a soft yet piercing glimmer.
The fiery symbol within them had dimmed but still pulsed faintly, like stubborn embers refusing to extinguish.
She blinked, disoriented, her breathing shallow and uneven, each inhale a struggle against the lingering fatigue.
“Fuck,” she muttered, the word barely audible, rasping out as she tried to push herself up from the bed.
She managed to lift herself halfway before her body betrayed her, muscles trembling uncontrollably.
Just as she began to collapse back into the pillow, a steady hand caught her from behind, holding her weight effortlessly.
The room was familiar—she had created this place, after all. But the comfort it once offered felt distant, as though it belonged to someone else.
Her gaze swept across the space before finally locking onto him.
He was leaning against the edge of the bed, his arm braced around her back to steady her. His head tilted slightly downward, dark hair falling over his eyes like a curtain, obscuring parts of his expression.
But still visible, his eyes—sharp, piercing, and utterly unyielding—were unmistakable. They were fixed entirely on her, calculating yet unreadable.
“You’re awake,” he said flatly. His voice was steady, devoid of warmth, as if he were merely stating a fact. Without hesitation, he adjusted his grip, carefully moving her into a sitting position.
Her breath hitched at the shift, her body still too weak to resist, but she didn’t fight him.
Instead, she glared at him, her eyes flaring briefly with fire—a flicker of defiance that burned brightly, only to fade just as quickly.
“Don’t act like you care,” she rasped, her voice laced with venom.
He didn’t respond immediately.
After helping her sit upright, he moved to step away, but her sudden struggle stopped him. She fought to steady herself, her body weak and uncooperative, trembling with the effort.
Without a word, he sighed and stepped back toward her. Wrapping his arms around her once more, he carefully adjusted her position, leaning her against the headboard for support.
Her body felt impossibly heavy, her limbs sluggish and unresponsive, as though she were wading through thick water.
Every movement was an effort, and the ache in her head was sharp and unrelenting, like shards of broken glass scraping against her thoughts.
She blinked slowly, disoriented, her voice barely above a whisper. “What… happened?”
She hadn’t really expected an answer, so she was taken aback when he replied.
“You tell me?” he asked, his tone clipped, but a faint hint of concern lingered underneath.
“Ooo, fuck you,” she muttered, frustration leaking into her words. “You think I know?”
He chuckled—a short, dry laugh that didn’t quite fit the moment.
Once he was sure she wouldn’t collapse, he stepped back, just out of her reach. His eyes never left her, watching her with a sharp, assessing gaze.
Crossing his arms, he regarded her with an inscrutable expression. “One second, you’re screaming—‘bitch, bitch, bitch,’ like some goddamn banshee—and the next, you pass out cold.”
He gestured vaguely toward her face, his lips thinning as his gaze shifted to her eyes. “And your eyes… they were doing that.”
Her gaze followed his motion, and she instinctively blinked, confusion flickering across her face. She looked at him, her pink irises faintly reflecting the room’s dim light.
Their eyes locked.
His expression softened—just barely—as his sharp, calculating stare gave way to something quieter, something almost uncertain.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched between them, heavy with tension, the air thick with questions neither seemed ready to ask—or answer.
The words he had spoken hung in the space between them, fragmented and almost nonsensical.
“ . . ”
| ‘ ’ |
“I promise, that’s exactly what happened,” the boy said, finally breaking the silence.
“Speak plainly,” she demanded, her voice low but firm, though a flicker of unease lingered beneath her tone.
“Sure,” he replied with a shrug. “But first, you tell me—do you remember me?”
Her pink irises narrowed slightly as they scanned his face, searching for something familiar. After a moment, she gave a small, hesitant nod.
The boy’s lips pressed into a thin line, his expression unreadable. “You remember, huh…?” he murmured, his voice almost too soft to hear.
Before she could respond, her hands instinctively flew to her face as a wave of realization crashed over her.
The memory of her death surged forward—vivid, raw, and unrelenting. It twisted her stomach and left her breathless, as though reliving it all over again.
Seeing her reaction, the boy moved closer and flicked her lightly on the forehead with his finger.
“Hey!” she exclaimed, startled, rubbing the spot where he had flicked her. Her glare was sharp, but the surprise in her voice betrayed her confusion.
“That’s enough of that,” he said, his tone a strange mix of sternness and teasing. “Now that you’ve got your memories back, let’s cut to the chase. Do you—no, scratch that. Why are you alive?”
She hesitated, her gaze lowering as though searching for answers in the folds of the blanket. Her lips parted, but no words came out at first. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. “I… I don’t know.”
The boy tilted his head slightly, watching her intently, his patience growing thin.
“But I know why,” she added quickly, her words tumbling out like a confession. “It’s this place—do you know what it’s called?”
He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Nope.”
“It’s ******,” she said, the name rolling off her tongue like a curse. Her voice dropped lower, heavy with meaning. “The place that despises death.”
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