Zethan stood under the shower, the water cascading over his silver hair, trailing down his neck and over his well-defined abs. It flowed along the sculpted lines of his back, revealing the perfection of his form.
He had been standing there for nearly an hour—the blood that once stained his body now long gone, replaced by clean skin.
The tiles that had soaked up the red water were white again. Still, he remained motionless—fists clenched, jaw tight, eyes closed—as his hands pressed against the wall, which seed to be cracked from the force of his fist.
Slowly, he ran his hands back through his wet hair. The cold water offered no relief; the tension in his skin remained, unbroken.
A slow sigh escaped his lips. He moved and then stopped at the door. Grabbing a towel, he wrapped it around his waist, then took a smaller one to roughly dry his hair. As he stepped out of the bathroom, his eyes were imdiately drawn to the frad photograph in the middle of the room—a picture of him and Lilia on their wedding day. For so reason he couldn’t explain, he wanted it there. He had personally requested it be placed, and it had remained there for weeks, just the way he wanted.
There was another photo too—smaller, more intimate—resting on the bedside table. It had been taken unknowingly, on the day of their engagent. In it, Lilia held up her hand, showing off the ring, her expression caught mid-smile and surprise. That one was just for him.
Zethan dried the rest of his body, then pulled on a black shirt, boxers, and pants. Once fully dressed, he walked to the bed and sat on its edge, brushing his almost-dried hair back. His gaze shifted to the wedding photo on the wall, then slowly to the smaller picture by the bed. He reached for it, holding it carefully in his hands.
Her face—so beautiful, those golden-brown eyes like crystals at sunset—stared back at him, frozen in ti. There had been surprise in her expression that day, the kind that made her eyes widen slightly. He chuckled softly, rembering how that mont had been interrupted over and over by flashes, yet sohow, this photo had captured sothing real. She looked breathtaking. Absolutely breathtaking.
"As always," he chuckled again, face-palming himself.
His chest tightened. Slowly, he stood and moved, walking out of the room.
He then moved quietly walked down the hallway, his expression unreadable. His footsteps echoed, slow and steady. At the end, he reached out and pressed his fingers to the wall panel. A soft chi sounded as the elevator doors slid open. He stepped inside, and the doors closed behind him. The elevator descended, the silence inside stretching until—ping—it ca to a stop.
The doors opened to a large, perfectly lit room.
There, lying motionless, was Lilia.
Her body was connected to nurous tubes and wires—life-supporting machines keeping her stable. Drips fed into her veins, and a breathing apparatus covered her nose and mouth. It was as if the machines were trying to mimic life, trying to hold on to sothing that had already slipped away.
On the other side of the room, Lena stood, hurriedly scribbling notes and typing into her laptop. She moved in a rush, her energy frantic, as if ti itself was running out. Then she paused, sensing a presence.
She turned and saw Zethan standing silently at the entrance, his cold eyes fixed on Lilia.
"How is she? Any signs?" he asked, his voice low and as cold as ice.
Lena slowly shook her head. "No, Mr. Zethan. There’s been no change. Nothing. It’s like... sothing’s blocking again. Like the previous ti. She’s already passed on to the Land of the Dead. I can feel that."
She paused, her voice faltering as the air in the room seed to grow heavier.
"And your mories... they haven’t returned either, have they?" she asked softly. "That’s... that’s not right. They should have co back the mont this happened. But there’s a reason for that."
Her eyes moved to Lilia, and then finally back to Zethan as she spoke again.
Then, after a brief silence, Lena asked quietly, almost hesitantly, "Mr. Zethan... has Miss Lilia ever exhibited any... inhuman traits? Anything strange? Unnatural? Have you ever felt sothing... off, even from the very beginning, when you first t her?"
Zethan’s gaze bore into her, cold and unreadable. His face didn’t change, but Lena understood his answer without him needing to say a word.
Then Lena spoke quietly, her voice laced with unease.
"From my observations so far... I believe Miss Lilia is exhibiting traits of both a black witch and a white one. It’s unusual—conflicting. On the day I attempted to access her mories, I encountered a barrier. Sothing blocked from going further. My hand... the bone in it reacted, signifying that sothing powerful was preventing the connection. That was one of the reasons I couldn’t proceed."
She paused, looking at Zethan carefully.
"The only way I could have seen clearly was by placing my hand directly on hers. But... I couldn’t. The bone in my hand wouldn’t let . It warned . So I stopped."
"Not to ntion," Lena continued quietly, "when I touched her... I didn’t just feel resistance. I felt burned. An unbearable, searing pain. My hand turned red—hot red. It was as if her touch transford my flesh into a curse. That alone told sothing wasn’t natural."
She took a shaky breath before going on.
"There’s sothing else—the flowers. The black flowers. When soone crosses into the Land of the Dead... they’re ant to return once the light fades. That’s when the pink petals of the soul flower begin to fall, one by one. But now... all the petals have fallen—except one."
Her eyes t his, steady now.
"The strange thing is, that last petal—the one still holding on—was ant to be the first to fall. But it hasn’t. It’s lingering. And I believe... when it finally does, your old mories will return. But when that happens..." she paused, her voice lowering, "you’ll pass out. The recovery will hit all at once."
Zethan remained silent.
He seed lost in thought, his expression unreadable—so still, so composed, that no one could begin to guess what he was thinking.
Lena finally moved, walking toward the door. But just before she stepped out, she stopped and turned back to him.
"Mr. Zethan, let go get the flowers from the room," she said softly, then disappeared through the doorway. The door clicked shut behind her.
As soon as she was gone, the blankness on Zethan’s face lted away, replaced by raw worry. Slowly, he moved toward Lilia. His body trembled as he reached out with a shaking hand and gently held hers—for the first ti in so long.
The coldness of her skin stiffened him.
"P...please, my wife," he whispered, his voice cracking, "please don’t leave ."
His grip tightened slightly, desperation flooding his voice.
"Please, I beg you. I know you won’t. I know you’ll hold on... Just hang in there, my love. Please don’t leave . I can’t... I can’t breathe without you. I don’t care who my ex-wife was—I don’t care about any of that. I just don’t want to lose you."
He choked back a bit.
"These past days have felt so unbearable. The bed... it’s empty. I miss your touch. Your lips. I miss all of you. That blush in your cheeks, the way you smiled, every single thing—every single fucking thing. Why did I refuse you?"
His knees hit the floor beside the bed as he gently lifted her hand to his forehead.
"I was scared... scared of turning you into a vampire. I thought you might regret it one day—because there’s no going back once you beco one."
He closed his eyes tightly, his voice breaking with the weight of his guilt.
"I thought you didn’t know what you were asking. But only if... only if I had listened."
His voice no longer just trembled—it cracked under the weight of his heartache.
"What would happen if you left ...?" he whispered. "What could I possibly do to be with you?"
He paused, swallowing hard.
"If it ans dying for you... then fine. I’ll do just that."
Slowly, he stood up, his hand slipping from hers. But just as he took a step back, a soft knock broke the silence.
The door creaked open, and Lena stepped in, holding sothing carefully in her hands.
Lena’s face was slightly pale as she stepped in, holding a set of small vials in her trembling hands. The petals within them had started to wither. Her voice was quiet.
"Mr. Zethan..." she began, eyes lowered, "I’m afraid... I would need to begin preparations."
She paused, as if trying to soften the blow.
"Mrs. Lilia is already in the Land of the Dead."
The mont those words left her lips, Zethan’s mouth curled into a cold, unsettling smile. Sothing dark shimred behind his eyes, a shadow that hadn’t been there before.
Lena hesitated but continued, "In order for her to rest peacefully in that realm... she will need a proper burial."
Silence hung in the air.
Then Zethan finally spoke—his voice low, sharp, and resolute.
"I will not bury her."
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