Sunlight stread through the golden leaves of the ancient oaks, dappling the polished marble tables where the city's elite gathered to socialize.
At one such table, Marcella sat across from Anthony. A steaming cup of cardamom-infused tea resting between her slender fingers.
The Rosewood Courtyard was alive with the quiet hum of noble society. It was the place where they usually hung out.
Anthony reclined lazily against his chair; one leg crossed over the other. He toyed with the rim of his wine glass.
Marcella arched a brow, "You're unusually quiet today."
Anthony glanced around the courtyard, as if checking for wandering ears. Then, in a tone far more serious than usual, he murmured, "Tell , have you heard about the disappearances?"
Her spine stiffened.
Anthony leaned in, "It's all over the capital. More than fifty people disappeared without a trace in just two days. And do you know what they say?"
Marcella already knew the answer. Still, she asked, "What?"
"Demons." Anthony's casual shrug made her eye twitch.
Her fingers tightened around the stem of her teacup. Deep down, sothing cold and primal curled around her spine.
Anthony continued, tapping his fingers idly against the table. "They say it's like the Black Vale Massacre all over again."
The mont those words left his mouth; a familiar chill swept over her skin and raised the hairs on the back of her neck.
Her head jerked up.
The Black Vale Massacre.
It had occurred ten years ago in the remote province of Black Vale, a mist-shrouded region nestled in the northern forests near the empire's border. The village itself was small and largely isolated, known for its iron mines.
Local hunters spoke of shadowed figures moving through the trees, and townsfolk whispered about strange voices heard in the wind.
But for the most part, these were considered superstitions — nothing more than tales to frighten children.
Until the disappearances began.
In the weeks leading up to the incident, entire families vanished overnight. The disappearances spread to nearby hamlets too. Houses were left undisturbed — als half-eaten, fires still burning in the hearths, personal belongings untouched — yet no trace of the inhabitants remained.
By the ti the crown received word, over hundreds of people had vanished without a trace.
In her past life, Marcella had ignored it. Back then, she had been too consud by power plays and courtly politics to care about the strange disappearances at the edge of the empire. She had dismissed it as superstition, sothing beneath her concern.
Now, she knew better.
This was not a coincidence.
This ti of the year, the timing was the sa. The pattern was the sa. The disappearances were repeating.
"Marcella?"
She blinked, snapping out of her thoughts. Anthony was watching her, "Are you alright?"
Marcella forced a small, easy smile. "Of course."
He didn't look convinced, but he let it slide.
"It's unsettling, though, isn't it?" Anthony mused, swirling the wine in his glass. "The entire city is on edge. People are terrified, whispering about locking their doors and praying harder at night."
Marcella stared into her tea, watching the surface ripple from the slight tremor in her hands.
A shadow lood over the table.
At first, she thought it was just another noble passing by, but sothing about the figure made her stomach twist. The air felt wrong.
Slowly, she lifted her gaze.
A crippled figure stood before her. Bent at odd angles, its posture unnatural, wrapped in layers of a tattered, hooded cloak that concealed everything but the gnarled, skeletal fingers peeking from its sleeves. It slled of rot, of sothing old and broken.
Anthony was still speaking, unaware. "The king had even called an ergency court session. Whatever's happening... it's serious."
The creature moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
A sharp glint of tal flashed beneath its cloak as it lunged.
Marcella's body reacted before her mind could catch up. Her past life instincts took over.
She pushed back from the table just in ti, the dagger missing her throat by a hair's breadth. The world slowed.
Her focus sharpened on the creature's grip, the sickening stitch-like scars running along the exposed sliver of its wrist. Not human. Not animal.
Marcella caught its arm mid-swing.
The thing gurgled, a wet, inhuman sound.
"Marcella!" In one swift movent, Anthony was beside her, grabbing the creature by its hood and yanking it back. The force of the motion sent its cloak slipping down, revealing the horror beneath.
It was hideous.
The nobles who had once been idly drinking their tea were now frozen, their expressions ranging from horror to disgust. A few of them had risen to their feet, clutching their pearls or pressing handkerchiefs to their mouths.
The creature's face was a ruin of flesh and bone, twisted in agony. Its eyes—if they could be called that—were milky white, like sothing that had been left to decay. Its mouth was sewn at the edges, yet it twitched violently as if trying to scream.
Anthony didn't hesitate. He drove his knee into its stomach, knocking it down.
Marcella took a breath, steadying her racing heart.
In her past life, she had been injured in this exact mont.
A shallow cut to the ribs, with a poisoned dagger.
This ti, she was unscathed.
This ti, she was cautious.
The creature gasped, its chest rising and falling erratically. Then, before either of them could react— Its hand shot to its ring.
Her eyes widened. "No—"
Too late.
A sudden puff of black powder erupted from the ring as the creature inhaled deeply.
It spasd.
The sll of death clung to the air.
Anthony still gripping the creature's lifeless body, turned to Marcella, "Are you alright?"
She didn't answer.
Her eyes were locked onto the creature.
What was it doing here? Who sent it?
A noblewoman, visibly shaken, stepped forward and reached for Marcella's arm. "Lady Marcella, are you hurt?"
Marcella forced herself to breathe. To push down the unease slithering through her veins. She turned, offering the woman a small nod. "I'm fine."
The words felt like a lie.
Because deep down, she knew—
She wasn't fine.
In her past life, before Marcella could discover anything, she had already been injured distracting her from the truth.
But this ti... she would not turn a blind eye.
This ti... she would find out the truth.
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