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kisshae · 3 days ago

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{流血} BLEED ❦ DANIELA AVANZINI

⸻ bleedin’ me dry like a goddamn vampire.

you were born to smile through silk and duty. she was born to hunger. you didn't notice the way she never cast a shadow. only how you felt safe in hers. and by the time you saw the blood—you'd already decided to love her.

&&캣츠아이다니엘라 ` ` ୨ৎ 𝑓. reader✷6631WC𓂃𓈒 angst vampire au ─── warnings kissing skinship drinking religious guilt internalized homophobia implied violence blood

🧛🏻‍♀️ , sacrifice (eat me up) - enhypen

the moon was little more than a bruise behind the clouds.

mist curled around the trees like breath, thick and slow, swallowing the path as you walked. you kept one hand clenched in your cloak, the other wrapped tightly around the little lantern you weren't supposed to have taken from the kitchens.

it flickered. you didn't look down.

the bridge loomed up from the fog like it had been carved from the dark itself. black stone, gleaming wet, the arch bent like a bowstring straining to hold something back. you'd been here before─too many times now─but the cold never got easier. neither did the silence.

you hesitated. the forest behind you sighed. then something moved. a shuffle in the underbrush, a crack like bones underfoot.

you froze.

"daniela?" you called, but it came out thin. not nearly brave enough. no answer. only the tree creaking like tired bones, the lantern sputtering again. your pulse kicked up, hard.

than a whisper behind you. "you're early."

you jumped so hard the lantern nearly flew from your hands. when you spun, she was already standing there─too close, as always. her smile was crooked, smug. "god─" you hissed, pushing at her shoulder. "you can't just do that. I thought you were─i don't know. a ghost. a thief. some beast come to drag me into the trees."

she didn't budge under your shove. she never did.

"you wound me." daniela murmured, still smiling, thought it didn't reach her eyes. "a beast? is that what you think of me?"

"don't start." you said, still catching your breath. "you're lucky I didn't scream. someone would've come running."

"someone?" she echoed, tilting her head. her voice lowered. "and who would they find? a poor girl kissing someone she shouldn't?"

you looked away, throat tightening. your fingers twisted in your cloak. it was always like this─secret meetings beneath the veil of night, the touch of her hands colder than they should be, the kiss she stole before you could ask her not to.

but you never did ask her not to.

daniela stepped forward, so close your lantern lit the hollow of her throat. her hair was damp with fog, lashes slivered with it. her eyes, too dark to be real, searched yours. "you're trembling." she said, quiet now. almost gentle.

"it's cold." you lied.

but you both knew it wasn't just the night that set your heart racing. and you didn't know it yet, but she could hear it. every beat. every lie. every drop of blood.

her gaze dipped, lingering at your mouth, then lower. your throat. the delicate column of your neck. the pulse that betrayed you.

she leaned in like she meant to kiss you─but you moved first, turning slightly, ducking your face just to set your lantern down at your feet, brushing the stone. you rose again with your hands lifted, pressed softly to her chest to keep a little space between you, oblivious to the way her breath caught like she'd been stuck.

"the moon's clearing up." you said, dreamily, like you hadn't almost kissed her. "do you see it? how it bleeds through the clouds like that? like it's trying to get through, even if it has to tear the sky open.."

she wasn't listening.

not really.

her eyes hadn't left you─not your hands, not your mouth, not the tender glow of your skin took in the lantern light. not the soft edge of your collarbone, barely visible. your voice was soft, breathless, and every wood seemed to stretch time thinner, tighter.

her hands settled low on your waist, as if they belonged there, as if she didn't have to ask.

"you say the strangest things." she murmured.

you smiled without looking at her. "maybe you don't list properly."

daniela tilted her head again. her thumbs pressed gently into sides like she was anchoring herself there. "I do." she said, barely above a whisper. "I listen to everything."

you laughed, light and tired and warm, and when your eyes met again, something shifted. your hands on her chest stilled, her eyes softened─or sharpened─and the moment cracked open just long enough for her to lean in again.

this time, you didn't move.

you let her kiss you.

it was careful at first─testing, asking. but the second you gave in, just a little, her mouth deepened it. her lips were cold and soft, and her hands pulled you just a breath closer, thumbs pressing into the fabric at your waist. she kissed you like she'd been starving. like this was all she wanted to taste.

her lips parted, barely, just enough to let your lower lip catch between hers. and when your breath hitched, she didn't stop─she kissed you deeper, slower, as if she could draw something from you without ever needing to ask for it.

and maybe she could.

maybe you'd let her.

you didn't know how long it lasted. how long she stayed pressed to you like that, kissing you like she was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth. her fingers curled tighter at your waist, her breath catching against your skin. your knees were weak─your body softening into hers without permission.

and still, she didn't stop.

you tried to speak once, mouth parting against hers─but she kissed over it. you tried again, and her hand came up to cradle your jaw, thumb grazing your cheek, her lips brushing yours again, reverent and hungry.

"daniela─" you managed, voice shaky, barely there.

she only hummed, kissed at the corner of your mouth, your cheekbone, the shell of your ear like she could live there. like she belonged to this part of you.

"daniela, wait─" you pushed gently at her chest, not hard, not like you meant it. but it was enough to still her. you didn't look at her as you stepped away. you couldn't. not with your mouth still tingling, not with the shame already rising, bitter and sharp and burning under your skin.

you turned, cloak flaring behind you, and began walking─fast, head down, the sound of your boots swallowed up by the fog.

behind you, daniela didn't speak. didn't ask.

just the soft sound of footsteps, then the click of your lantern being lifted from the stone. she caught up to you easily. always too quiet, always too close. she didn't say anything, didn't touch you─at first.

but the distance between you was small. smaller still as you walked.

her free hand brushed yours once again. then again.

you didn't pull away, not yet. but your hands curled tighter against your body, like you were afraid of what might happen if you let her try again.

"I didn't mean to upset you." daniela said, voice quieter now. gentler. not apologetic. just watching.

"you didn't." you said too quickly. too defensively.

a pause. then, soft. "you pulled away."

you swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the path. your heart thudded in your chest, too loud, too guilty. "it's not.." you trailed off. couldn't finish.

you didn't know how to say I liked it and I shouldn't have at the same time. the way she kissed you─it made you feel like you were something sacred. something wanted. but the heat it left behind felt dirty. wrong. like a sin pressed into your skin where no one could see.

"if someone saw us..." you tried again, voice quieter now. "they'd have me stripped of my title. sent to a convent. worse."

she didn't answer.

the lantern swung between you, casting gold light on the damp path. her hand brushed yours again─closer this time, like she might reach for it. like she might hold it.

you bit the inside of your cheek. look straight ahead, toward the narrow path twisting back to the castle. "it's not right." you said.

her breath caught. "me?"

"this."

you didn't say you. you didn't say us. you couldn't.

"they'd say it's wicked." you whispered, voice cracking at the edge. "unclean. unholy. my soul will rot for what i've done."

daniela was quiet. too quiet.

you swallowed hard. "maybe they're right."

then─softly, like a prayer not meant to be heard─she said, "i've already rotted. maybe that's why I don't care."

you stopped walking. so did she. you didn't look at her. couldn't. your fists were shaking. "you make it so hard."

"to breathe?"

you nodded.

"to pretend?"

you nodded again, slower. and then her fingers brushed yours─just barley. she didn't try to hold your hand. she just stayed there, close enough to burn.

you woke, but the room wasn't yours.

your bed was the same—white sheets pulled taut, lace-trimmed coverlet folded just so—but the air felt wrong. heavy. thick like breath on glass. your skin prickled with cold, though you couldn't see your breath.

outside, no moon. no stars. just black, pressed up against the window like a body trying to get in. you sat up slow, heart dragging behind you like something left out in the rain. the silence was loud. thick.

that's when you heard it.

a noise—wet. muffled. something between chewing and sobbing. you turned your head. slowly. across the room, at the foot of your bed, someone was crouched. hunched over.

a figure. pale nightdress. shoulders trembling. dark hair hanging like a curtain. you squinted in the dark, the shape barely lit by the sliver of candle still burning on your writing desk. the flame didn't flicker. nothing moved but her.

you swung your legs over the side of the bed, toes sinking into plush carpet—except it didn't feel soft. it felt wet. you didn't look down.

the closer you stepped, the louder the sound became. ripping. tearing. soft gasps like pain or pleasure. you paused, barely breathing, one hand outstretched.

"daniela?" you whispered. your voice didn't echo. the room swallowed it whole.

you reached for her shoulder—hesitant, trembling—your fingertips just hovering over the fabric of her sleeve. and then she turned. her face was red.

not flushed. red.

her mouth was drenched in blood, lips split and smeared. her eyes glowed dark, like something deep under water. her teeth were—god—sharp. too many. too bright. there was a body in her arms. limp. half-eaten. skin torn like parchment.

she looked at you like she didn't know you.

or worse—like she did.

you stumbled backward, gasping, hand to your mouth. your heel caught the hem of your nightgown and you fell hard onto the floor, hands splayed out behind you. you felt it before you saw it. warm. slick. everywhere.

you lifted your hand from the floor—shaking—and it came away red. crimson against white. soaking through lace. the hem of your gown already blooming like a wound. you didn't breathe. couldn't.

and daniela—daniela was looking at you. her mouth open, smeared with blood. lips wet, parted like she was about to say something, but didn't. instead, she reached out. slow. careful. reverent.

her hands—soaked in red—came up to your face. she cupped your cheek like she loved you. thumbs brushing your skin, warm and sticky. you couldn't move. couldn't flinch. couldn't look away from her eyes, from the hunger there. the ache. you almost let her.

and then—

light. too much of it. too sudden.

you gasped awake, body jerking upright in your bed like you'd been pulled from water. your sheets were twisted, damp with sweat. your nightgown clung to your chest. your throat ached from a scream you hadn't made.

"my lady?"

you blinked, breath ragged. the world was too bright.

your maid was standing by the window, pushing the heavy drapes open with both hands. sunlight spilled across the floor like gold. outside, you could hear birds. children laughing in the courtyard. carriages rolling over cobblestone.

"it's nearly eight." she said cheerfully. "your mother says not to miss breakfast today. she wants you dressed early for the ball—says it'll be good to show your face to the townsfolk, now that they're invited inside the gates."

you couldn't answer. your hand was still clutching your sheets, eyes darting to the floor beside your bed—clean. dry. no blood. you brought your fingers to your face, slow. your skin was warm. clean. not a trace of red.

but the feeling hadn't left. you didn't move until your maid left to fetch your gown.

you couldn't stay in the room. not with the sheets clinging to your back and the feeling of her hands pressed against your face. the gown your maid picked was pale blue silk, soft as water. it fit too tightly today—like your skin was thinner, like everything underneath was bruised.

you slipped out the back staircase, down the east wing, and into the courtyard. sunlight pooled between stone arches. townspeople were beginning to gather beyond the gates—men with baskets of bread, women balancing children on their hips, girls in ribbon-tied aprons. they were loud. laughing. real.

you didn't feel real.

your shoes tapped quietly against the stone path. somewhere behind you, the kitchen bells rang. you walked faster, unsure where you were going—only that you needed to move.

then you heard it again. footsteps behind yours. steady. familiar.

"you're up early." came her voice.

your whole body froze. daniela.

you didn't turn around.

"I thought you hated crowds," you muttered, eyes locked ahead.

"I do." she said easily, and you heard her footsteps fall in beside yours. "but I like seeing you in the sun."

you flinched. she noticed.

your hands were clasped tightly in front of you, nails pressing into your gloves. you didn't speak, didn't breathe too deep. the dream was still crawling under your skin. her face, in the dark. her mouth. her hands. you felt her beside you—too close, always too close—and then her fingers brushed yours. once. twice.

then, softly, she tried to take your hand. you pulled away. not hard. not dramatic. just quick. deliberate. daniela's hand fell back like you'd slapped it. she stopped walking. you kept going.

"you're mad." she said behind you.

you didn't answer.

"what did I do?" her voice had changed. smaller. softer. "if this is about the other night—i wasn't trying to push you."

you turned around so fast she nearly bumped into you. "it's not about that." you hissed. "stop—just—stop trying to make it about you."

her brows pinched. her mouth opened like she wanted to argue, but nothing came out. you didn't wait. you turned sharply on your heel and disappeared into the crowd, silk skirts brushing past fruit carts and hay barrels and strangers who didn't you were unraveling.

you didn't see her expression. but she didn't follow you again.

you didn't mean to end up in the garden. it was one of those places you always forgot existed until your feet dragged there. quiet. trimmed hedges. white stone path curling around the fountain like a ribbon. the petals were already falling from the rose bushes. crushed velvet underfoot.

you knelt beside the fountain, fingers plucking absently at a little cluster of white violets, not even aware of it at first. your mind was too loud.

you whispered to no one. "it was just a dream." your hand trembled around the stem. one petal tore in your grip. "she wouldn't do that. not really. she's not a..." you couldn't even finish the word.

you dropped the flower and leaned back on your heels, head tilting up to the sun, trying to breathe. trying to remind yourself of your body. of the world. and then you heard footsteps behind you. real ones. not her this time.

"you always disappear when there's something important going on." came a voice. lighter. warmer. familiar.

you looked over your shoulder.

sunghoon stood at the edge of the garden path, hands tucked behind his back, coat half-unbuttoned like he hadn't dressed fully before wandering out. his hair was a little disheveled. the sunlight caught in the curve of his smile.

"your mother's been searching for you." he added. "I told her I'd find you."

you stood up slowly, brushing your skirt off with both hands. "sorry."

"don't be. if I had a view like this outside my room, I'd disappear here, too." he stepped closer, stopping just beside you, eyes on the fountain. for a moment, neither of you said anything. then—causal, like he wasn't waiting for it—he offered you his arm.

you looked at it.

he's perfect, you thought. that horrible little voice, again. handsome. polite. knows how to dress. knows when to speak. you'd never have to hide him. you hesitated only a second before slipping your arm through his.

his smile deepened, proud but not smug. "see? not so bad."

you didn't answer. your legs moved before your mind did. the two of you strolled back toward the castle in silence. the path narrowed. you didn't pull your arm away. his hand rested lightly over yours. you told yourself it was fine. it was normal.

he likes you. your parents would like him. he smells like lavender soap and cedar, not blood and ash and smoke. he wouldn't kiss you in the dark. he wouldn't lie. he wouldn't scare you.

you glanced at him from the corner of your eye. his profile was lovely in the sun. gentle and neat. he looked like a painting. so why, then—why did your chest ache like you were breaking your own ribs? why did you keep seeing her face when you closed your eyes?

when you reached your room, he walked you in like it was nothing. he didn't say much. just let the silence hold. your maids weren't there yet—no bustle of fabric, no corsets waiting. just the two of you. golden light through your windows. your arm still in his.

and still that awful part of you whispered—

if you were good, you'd choose him.

you stood there like that for a second longer. you could feel his pulse beneath his glove, steady and calm. then, finally, you let go of him. he lingered by the doorway, hands folded behind him like he wasn't trying to make you nervous, like he wasn't hoping for anything. the sun painted the floor between you in gold and shadow.

"your mother." he said gently, "thinks something will be announced tonight."

you didn't speak.

he took a breath. "about us."

you still didn't speak.

"i'd say yes." he said after a pause. "if they asked."

your throat was dry. you wanted to say something—anything—but your voice wouldn't come. he smiled at you like he could wait forever. "we'll talk more tonight, yes?" you nodded. once.

and with that, he pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles—warm and almost sweet—and let himself out. your hand lingered in the air for a moment after the door clicked shut. and all you could feel was her mouth instead.

the gown was heavy. roses embroidered into the hem. gold threaded into every seam. ruffled sleeves blooming at your wrists like wilted petals. you stood in front of the mirror, trying to recognize yourself in all of it. the corset pinched your ribs. your necklace sat too tight around your throat. your fingers kept fussing with the ruffles on your sleeves, twisting the fabric just to feel something real beneath your fingers.

you looked like a doll. a bride. a lie.

you didn't hear the knock at first—too wrapped up in the silence of your own thoughts. it came again, sharper. not at the door.

the window.

your heart dropped. you turned, slow. moved across the room, skirts rustling, heels light on marble. you tugged the curtain back—and there she was.

daniela.

pressed against the edge of the stone windowsill, face pale and flushed with cold. curls loose around her face. her eyes caught the candlelight in a way that made them look...darker than usual. glinting. sharp. you slid the latch open just enough for your voice to slip through.

"what are you doing here?" you hissed. "someone could've seen you—"

"no one did." she said. "I was careful."

"you shouldn't be here. this is the ball. they're all inside. my parents are inside."

"and yet," daniela said coolly, "you're not."

your lips parted—nothing came out.

she leaned in slightly, one gloved hand gripping the windowsill. "why were you upset this morning?"

“i wasn’t upset.”

“you didn’t even look at me.”

you shook your head, voice tightening. “i told you. i was tired. nothing more.”

she didn’t believe you. you could see it in the way her gaze flicked over your face—searching. unconvinced.

before you could retreat, she climbed in through the window with a grace that was far too quiet for someone in boots. she stepped into your room like she belonged there, like she always had.

“you’ve been avoiding me,” she said softly.

you didn’t answer. your hands were trembling slightly—still tangled in the ruffles of your sleeves.

daniela stepped closer. her presence made the candlelight flicker. and then she cupped your face with both hands. cold. so much colder than usual. your skin flinched beneath her touch.

her thumbs brushed your cheekbones, slow and sure, like she wasn’t going to let you pull away. her eyes were darker than they should be. shadows curled in her irises like smoke.

you blinked, trying to breathe.

her touch—this touch—it mirrored the dream. too close. too gentle. too dangerous.

your hand came up, fingers curling around her wrist, trying to push her off. but she didn’t move. her hands only pressed deeper into your cheeks.

“daniela,” you breathed. “please—”

but she didn’t listen.

her right hand slid down, slow, trailing over the curve of your jaw, along the side of your throat, and then settled on your hip. she pulled you toward her, and you went—helpless.

“you smell so sweet tonight,” she whispered.

you swallowed.

“don’t,” you said. but it came out so soft. too soft.

she leaned in. and you let her. her lips brushed yours—tentative, waiting for a refusal.

you didn’t give one.

and then her mouth was on yours, and the taste of her was like frost and longing and something sweeter beneath it. your hands curled against her chest. your whole body screamed no and yes at the same time. somewhere in your mind, you could hear your name being called from downstairs. laughter. footsteps.

but you didn’t move.

her lips moved against yours with such aching purpose, like she hadn’t stopped thinking about this since the last time. like she would’ve waited centuries for this moment.

you melted into her without meaning to—hands gripping her sleeves, her waist, anything to keep yourself steady. her fingers dug softly into the silk at your hip, her mouth tilted just slightly to deepen the kiss, and your heart was beating so loudly it felt like it might echo through the halls.

her mouth was still on yours when the knock came. sharp. three polite raps against the door. you froze. daniela stilled too, lips parting from yours but her breath still caught against your cheek.

"my lady?" came sunghoon's voice, muffed through the woods. "your father's about to begin the speech."

your heart lurched. you pushed her back, not hard, just frantic. her hand slipped from your waist but she didn't stumble—she never did.

you turned from her, tried to smooth your skirts, felt the blood still racing through your face and throat. "hold on!" you called, voice way too high.

your hair was half-falling from its pins. your lips still tasted like her.

you glanced over your shoulder—daniela stood perfectly still, gaze unreadable, lips parted slightly like she was about to speak again. but you couldn’t let her. not now. not here.

you stumbled toward the door, cracked it open just enough for your face to be seen.

sunghoon stood in full dress uniform, eyes lighting up when he saw you—then dimming a little as he took in the flush in your cheeks, the way you wouldn’t quite meet his eyes.

“are you alright?” he asked, brows gently pinching. “you look… out of breath.”

“just needed a moment,” you managed, voice light. “the gown is heavy.”

he nodded. “may i—?”

before you could say no, he pressed gently on the door. it opened a little further. your breath caught. you looked behind you. she was gone. not a shadow, not a footprint, not a whisper left in her place.

sunghoon’s gaze flicked around the room, then settled back on you.

“you sure you’re alright?”

you nodded again, this time slower. “yes. sorry. just—yes.”

he offered his arm. you hesitated. then took it.

he guided you down the hallway, careful with your pace, polite as ever. like nothing had happened. like there hadn’t just been a girl pressed against you, her hands cold as death, her mouth hotter than sin.

your hand tightened slightly around sunghoon’s sleeve. and still, you couldn’t stop glancing back down the hall. wondering where she’d gone. wondering how long you had before she came back. wondering why you wished she would.

the ballroom was too warm.

between the soft golden candlelight, the perfume hanging in the air, and the crush of gowns and coats, it felt more like a furnace than a celebration. you kept sunghoon's arm in yours. partly for stability. mostly to keep yourself from floating away.

your father stood at the head of the marble staircase, his voice booming across the floor, thanking nobles and townsfolk alike for their loyalty, their contributions, their belief in tradition. people clapped. laughed. toasted.

you barely heard a word of it.

your fingers kept brushing against the ring of your necklace. you were still tasting her. you were still breathing like you hadn't fully come down from something—

no. no. stop.

you bit down hard on your lip, hoping the pain would ground you. instead, you caught yourself wishing her lips were still there.

sunghoon noticed, of course. "are you alright?"

you nodded too quickly. "just warm."

he reached for a drink from a passing tray, offering the glass. wine, blood-dark and sweet. you took it. swallowed too fast. your father was still talking. you couldn’t hear him.

you were trying to pray. in your head, somewhere. some desperate chant from when you were young. to be good. to be clean. you told yourself you were just tired. that it was just a kiss. that it wasn’t that kind of love.

but the way she touched you. the way she looked at you. like she knew every thought you’d tried to scrub out with holy water—what kind of god would forgive that?

“you’re shaking,” sunghoon said gently.

you looked down. the wine in your glass trembled. you let out a laugh—sharp and tight. “i think i need another.”

“stay here,” he said. “i’ll bring you one.”

you nodded. he disappeared into the crowd.

your hand clutched the edge of the table. you couldn’t cry. not here. not now. and then—the music cut off. not a gradual stop. not a polite end to a waltz. a sudden, sickening silence.

someone screamed.

a man stumbled from the hall. one of the nobles, maybe. his waistcoat soaked through with red. he was trying to speak, but blood gurgled out instead.

you froze.

the room turned. gasps rising. someone shouted for help. a servant ran. and then you saw it. not the body—not yet. the eyes. wide and vacant. staring up from the floor. face pale. throat—

bitten.

your stomach dropped. people were pushing back now. scrambling. voices overlapping. your father was shouting for guards. sunghoon returned to your side, protective hand already at your back. “don’t look,” he said, but it was too late.

your mouth was dry. your limbs locked in place. you could feel the blood draining from your own face, matching the man's on the floor.

you didn’t have to ask. you knew.

somewhere in this ballroom—among the gold and velvet and smiles. someone had fed.

“don’t look,” sunghoon whispered, stepping in front of you. “you don’t need to see that.”

but you already had. the man's throat. the blood. the way the guards looked like they didn’t know whether to chase after something or kneel and pray. your hand shook. the wine glass in your grip tilted too far, splashing down the front of your gown. red staining red. like it was always meant to be there.

sunghoon took the glass from you and passed it off blindly. he didn’t ask again. “come with me,” he said. firm, but gentle.

you didn’t argue. not with your mouth. but your heart was screaming.

he guided you out of the ballroom, arm steady around your waist. through one of the side corridors. quieter now, colder. you could still hear the chaos echoing behind you—raised voices, shouted orders, someone sobbing.

“it must’ve been an animal,” someone said. “a beast from the woods—”

“no animal does that.”

you could still feel the press of daniela’s hand against your cheek.

sunghoon brought you into one of the drawing rooms—a small one, barely used—and shut the door behind you. thick velvet curtains kept out the candlelight from the hall. “sit,” he said. “just breathe.”

you sat on the edge of a velvet chaise, your dress crumpling beneath you, the wine soaking into the folds. your fingers were cold.

“i’ll get you water,” he offered, already halfway to the door again.

“no,” you whispered.

he stopped. turned.

you looked up at him. tried to smile. “just—stay.”

he nodded. stepped closer, then sat beside you, his hand resting awkwardly on the space between you both. you stared down at your lap. you couldn’t get the image out of your head. the blood. the teeth. the cold, cold hands.

daniela.

you were awake before the sun. lying flat on your back, eyes fixed to carved ceiling above your bed, it's gold trim blurring in the dark. sunghoon's arm was draped across your waist.

his breath came soft and even against your shoulder. he was still asleep—of course he was. he always slept so soundly, like he wasn't afraid of anything. like there weren't monsters being whispered about on every street corner. like a man hadn't been found drained of blood beneath the chandeliers of your family's ballroom.

your throat was dry. your heart ached with something you couldn’t name. the mattress beneath you was warm. his body was steady. protective. but it wasn’t her.

sunghoon didn’t sleep curled into you. he didn’t bury his face in your shoulder and kiss your collarbone between dreams. he didn’t whisper things in a language that didn’t exist. he didn’t trace patterns on your ribs with his fingertips like he was trying to memorize you.

daniela had.

your eyes fluttered shut for a moment.

you shouldn’t be thinking about her. not after what happened. not after you’d seen what you saw.

but you hadn’t really seen it. right?

that night felt like a fever dream now. everyone was saying different things—talk of a beast, a madman, a murderer. and of course: the rumors. vampires. people had been whispering about them for years. but after that night, the whispers had become sermons. hunts. locked doors and garlic hanging in windows.

still, no one had seen one. not really.

and daniela had disappeared before anyone could ask her anything. she hadn’t come back.

she’d left you.

you turned your head slightly, careful not to wake sunghoon. his hand tightened around your waist in his sleep, like he could sense you drifting.

he was here now. keeping you safe. keeping the rumors out, and the cold away. this was what people wanted. what your mother prayed for. a man to share your bed. a name to be tied to yours. you swallowed.

if you were good, you’d choose him.

but you didn’t feel good. you didn’t feel anything. your eyes trailed to the curtains. faint blue light was starting to press through them. dawn. another day without her.

you didn't remember getting dressed. you just moved.

careful. quiet. you lifted sunghoon's arm off your waist, slow enough not to wake him. his brow twitched, but he didn't stir. the floor was cold beneath your feet. you didn't bother with gloves, only wrapped a shawl around your shoulders and grabbed the lantern from the table.

the match flared like a secret.

you didn't leave through the main hallway. the staff would be waking soon. instead, you crept through the servants passage near the back of the estate. the air was stale. you knew the turns by heart.

outside, the wind cut through you like a warning. but you didn't stop walking. you followed the same trail as always—the one that curved behind the orchard and led toward the woods. it was damp from early fog, your shoes sinking slightly into the soft dirt. your lantern swayed in your hand, casting long, jagged shadows over the trees.

you reached the place. the one only you and she ever used. a thicket between two cypress trees, just past the edge of the chapel ruins.

"daniela?" you whispered.

no answer.

you stepped forward. the forest was quiet. too quiet. "daniela." you said again, louder this time. "i—i know you're out there."

silence.

until—a sound. not a voice. wet. slow. rhythmic. you turned your head. it was coming from deeper in the woods. behind the rock face. where the cliffs dipped. you found the mouth of the cave like you'd been here before. maybe in a dream. maybe always.

your hand tightened on the lantern. "don't be stupid." you whispered to yourself. "don't go in."

but your feet moved anyway.

the cave walls were narrow at first, then opened wide. the smell was sharp and coppery. your breath misted in front of your face. and then you heard it again. that noise. chewing.

you stopped. frozen. your heartbeat rang in your ears. your hand trembled as you lifted the lantern higher. and there—on the floor of the cave, crouched low over something—was her.

daniela.

her dress was torn. her hair wild. her back to you. and beneath her—a body. still. your breath caught.

she turned her head at the sound. slowly. her mouth was red. her chin stained. he eyes—not like you remembered. dark. ravenous. unhuman.

"daniela." you whispered.

she rose to her feet. blood dripped down the front of her dress. her expression unreadable—something between grief and hunger. her lips parted.

“so,” she said. her voice low, bitter. “you don’t love me anymore.”

you couldn’t speak.

she took a step closer. her boots crushed bones. “you saw me once,” she continued, gesturing to her face. “and now i’m a monster. is that it?”

“daniela—” you breathed. “what did you—”

“don’t lie to me.”

another step. closer. your back hit the cave wall.

“you said you loved me,” she said, voice trembling. “you said you wanted me.”

“i did,” you whispered. “i do, i just—”

“just what?” her voice cracked. “just not like this? not when it’s real?”

your lantern flickered in your hands. you were shaking.

“look at me,” she said, stepping even closer. “if you really want to leave—if you really don’t love me anymore—then look me in the eyes and say it.”

you opened your mouth. nothing came out.

because you couldn’t. because some part of you still did. even like this.

“look me in the eyes,” daniela said again.

you couldn’t.

your chest was tight. your throat was closing. tears threatened the corners of your eyes and you couldn’t even breathe—and she was still moving toward you. slow. deliberate. like she was trying not to frighten you. but the blood on her face did that for her.

“daniela,” you whispered, stepping back. your spine hit stone. “you—this isn’t you. this can’t be—”

“this is me,” she snapped. “this has always been me.”

her voice was breaking. you could see it in her eyes now. rage and grief coiled together like snakes. her hands were trembling.

you wanted to hold her. you wanted to run.

“you still smell so sweet,” she said, her voice cracking. “i’ve missed you so much—”

her hands reached for you.

you flinched.

“don’t—”

“just a taste,” she whispered. her eyes were wide, feverish. “just one—i swear, just one.”

“no,” you choked out. “daniela—please—don’t.” her hands gripped your waist. her breath ghosted your neck. your vision blurred. you were crying. really crying.

you shoved at her. she didn’t move.

“stop—stop—” your fingers clawed behind you—reaching for something, anything—

and they closed around a shard of glass. a broken bottle, maybe. glinting in the lantern’s dying light. you didn’t think. you just moved. you slashed upward, wild, crying. “get away from me!”

it caught her face—barely. she hissed in pain, staggered back. blood welled up instantly, dark and thick.

your hands were shaking so hard you almost dropped the shard. you did drop the lantern.

glass shattered. the flame blinked out.

darkness.

you didn’t wait. you ran.

out of the cave. through the trees. feet slipping in the mud. hands catching on branches.

your lungs burned. your tears blurred everything. the gown tangled around your legs. but you didn’t stop. not until the castle walls came into view, glowing faintly in the distance. not until you collapsed behind the chapel ruins and tried to scream without sound.

it was summer again.

the windows were open. the wind pushed gently at the curtains. somewhere in the courtyard, someone was playing music—soft, forgettable, a melody you’d heard too many times now.

you sat alone in the gallery. your gown hung heavy on your frame. not quite tailored. not quite comfortable.

you’d been married six months. sunghoon was kind. polite. he always asked how you were before bed. he always brought your favorite tea. he always knocked before entering.

he did everything right.

and still—he wasn’t her.

your gaze drifted to the nearest painting. your face looked back at you, expression stilled into perfection. your hands folded neatly in your lap. your smile measured. ladylike.

you hated that version of yourself.

your eyes shifted to the next one. and the next. years of portraits lined the walls. each of them the same girl. same dress. same distance behind the eyes.

none of them looked like you.

you rose to your feet and wandered further down the corridor, passing old ancestors and former lords and ladies. your name was carved beneath them now. a wife. a lady. a duchess.

you stopped in front of the newest portrait—your wedding one.

you and sunghoon stood side by side. his arm around yours. your dress shimmering in gold. your face—

still.

cold.

like the paint couldn’t hide what was missing.

you touched your fingers to your reflection, right where your heart should be. the oil was dry beneath your skin.

a breeze moved through the room. the candle nearest to you flickered. and just for a moment—only a second—you could’ve sworn you smelled her again. violets. blood. and smoke.

your hand dropped to your side.

they said she vanished that night. some claimed she was never real to begin with. a fever dream. a myth. a curse.

you knew better.

you still saw her in your sleep. still felt her lips ghost across your shoulder when the room went quiet. still flinched when you saw blood on your fingertips and didn’t know if it was hers or yours.

you stood in silence a while longer. the music outside faded. your reflection watched you from the frame—painted in gold, draped in silk, crowned by duty. so composed. so cold.

you couldn't remember the last time you'd seen yourself smile without trying.

and maybe this is what you deserved. maybe this is what came from choosing right over real. you turned away from the painting and let your fingers trail across the stone wall as you walked. soft footfalls. soft grief.

they say love makes monsters of us all. but what if the monster was already in love?