Foreword
This is not a story.It's a sanctified sin.
A sin, obsession dressed as velvety devotion.
They will say she saved him, the girl with the gentle smile and ghost-hands dragged the devil from his throne and taught him how to kneel.
But they never saw the way he looked at her, like a god who finally found something he couldn't destroy but worship.
No.
She didn't save him.
She offered herself to the fire-and smiled as it burned.
Because love, here, is not tender.
It's a weapon.
It's the soft click before the trigger.
It's a man who would kill empires for a laugh and a woman who buried her grief in garden beds and grew poison instead of petals.
This is for the ones who've kissed a mouth and tasted madness.
For those who know that healing isn't always gentle-
Sometimes it's violent.
Sometimes it bleeds.
If you want light, turn back.
But if you want a love that stalks the edges of sanity-
A love that devours and damns and remembers-
This is your que.
Ares.
