CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
48
Never Look At A Mirror
—The Fates’ Writing—
Bonus Content
The grime on the mirror was a battleground, a dusty record of forgotten mornings and bleary nights. Daniel stared into it, his reflection a stranger etched with fatigue and despair. His bloodshot eyes mirrored the emptiness of the apartment, a cavern left echoing by Morwenna’s absence.
Anger, a familiar viper, coiled in his gut. How dare she choose that bloodsucker king over him? The unfairness of it all twisted the reflection in the glass, turning a frown into a snarl.
He hated the way his traitorous heart still thumped a traitorous rhythm for her.
He was done with this pining, this obsession that gnawed at him like a starved rat.
He slammed his fist against the cool surface, the pain a perverse comfort. The mirror didn’t crack, just blurred with the sting of his knuckles. He hit it again, the sound a dull thud punctuated by a metallic tang. Blood welled, a crimson counterpoint to the dull ache in his chest. Perfect. Physical pain, a tangible reminder to drown out the soul-deep misery.
A voice, smooth as honey and laced with amusement, slithered from the depths of the mirror. “Poor Daniel Alder,” it cooed.
Daniel recoiled, a jolt of terror spiking through his stupor. Was he losing his mind? Had the cheap whiskey his Aunt Valentine warned him about finally fried his circuits? He spun around, searching the corners of the room, his gaze flitting across the rumpled bed and the overflowing ashtray. Nope, nothing there. Just the mocking reflection staring back, a bloody testament to his pathetic state.
He’d downed nearly five bottles, a defiance against the world and the gnawing ache in his heart. But the liquor, like everything else, failed to numb the hollowness Morwenna had left behind.
He slumped against the sink, the voice’s echo a taunt in his ringing ears. Maybe he should have listened to his aunt of drinking too much. But that was the problem with heartbreak, it had a way of turning even the sanest man into a rambling fool, searching for voices in drawers and under pillows.
The voice, that honeyed serpent, slithered back into existence. “Poor Daniel!” it chirped. Daniel, defeated, slumped onto the cold tile floor. His head throbbed in time with the mocking echo.
“Where... who’s calling my name?” he rasped, his voice thick with despair and cheap whiskey.
“Why, me, of course,” the voice replied, amusement playing along its edges.
“Who are you?” Daniel snapped, a spark of defiance flickering in his bloodshot eyes. He hated games, especially ones played on a broken man.
“The hunter and the hunted, ” the voice answered cryptically.
Daniel scoffed. “The hunter and the hunted? Who in the bloody hell gives themselves a name like that?” A humorless laugh bubbled up from his chest, tinged with hysteria.
A chilling answer materialized in the polished gleam of the tile floor – not Daniel’s reflection, but a woman with Morwenna’s chillingly familiar face, her icy beauty marred by a chilling spectral glow. A ghost.
“Morwenna...” he breathed, the word catching in his throat.
The ghost tilted its head, a smile playing on its lips that sent shivers down Daniel’s spine. “Oh, Morwenna, is that what you think I am?”
“You look like her,” he stammered. “Are you messing with me, Morwenna? Is this some drunken hallucination? Are you here to take me back, baby?” A barrage of questions spilled from his lips, fueled by the cheap whiskey and the desperate hope clinging to the edges of his sanity.
The ghost, its true nature hidden beneath the mask of Morwenna’s face, considered for a moment. “Morwenna, huh?” it mused, then decided to play along. “No, Daniel Alder, I’m not taking you back. I’m not Morwenna of this world. But you’re right, I am hers...” Its voice took on a cruel edge. “So sad, so pathetic. Lost your precious woman to a vampire, and now you wallow in misery. How very... predictable.”
Daniel choked out a sob, the liquor a bitter counterpoint to the tears blurring his vision. “I loved her,” he rasped, his voice raw with pain. “She was always first, and she...” His voice trailed off, the accusation hanging heavy in the air.
“She chose the wrong one,” the ghost scoffed, its voice dripping with false sympathy. “Typical women, give them your heart and they toss it aside for a shiny new toy.”
“A vampire,” Daniel ground out through gritted teeth, correcting the ghost’s casual dismissal.
“Ah, a vampire,” the ghost cooed, drawing the word out with exaggerated relish. “Strong, powerful, the very essence of danger. No wonder she couldn’t resist him.”
Daniel slammed his fist against the floor, the tile echoing with a dull thud. “Strong? I’m strong too! Don’t you see? Every woman in the office practically throws herself at me. But no, she goes for the bloodsucking fiend!”
“But he’s a king,” the ghost countered, its voice smooth as silk.
“So what?” Daniel roared, a spark of defiance momentarily flickering in his bloodshot eyes. “I’m the damn mayor’s son! Practically a king in this city myself.”
The ghost chuckled, a sound like wind chimes tinkling in a graveyard. “A king,” it corrected, its voice taking on a seductive purr, “rules without answer. He answers to no one, beholden to nothing but his own desires. A king, Daniel, is a god to those who kneel before him. And that’s what your Morwenna craves – a god to worship, to submit to.”
Daniel felt a cold dread seep into his bones, the ghost’s words echoing the hollowness in his chest. “She never saw that in me, did she?” he whispered, his voice cracking.
“Not the way she sees it in him,” the ghost purred, closing in for the kill. “But I see something else in you, Daniel Alder. The potential for your own kind of power. To become a king in your own right. To make Morwenna Petrova regret the day she ever rejected you. Show her what a real king looks like. Make her pay.” The ghost’s voice took on a seductive edge, weaving a tapestry of vengeance that resonated with the darkest corners of Daniel’s heart. “It’s time the world sees who you truly are, Daniel. Not some weak, lovesick fool. But a king. A god.”
Daniel sank deeper into the cold embrace of the floor, memories swirling in the haze of cheap liquor.
Flashes of Morwenna, bright and defiant, clashed with the dull ache of her absence. He saw himself, a shield against bullies, a fist clenched in blind rage on her behalf. He remembered their first date, the sting of whispers and envious stares, and the bonfire that mysteriously consumed the houses of those gossipmongers the next morning. A bonfire fueled by his love, a twisted monument to his possessiveness.
He loved her, still loved her, with a desperation that gnawed at his insides. He wanted her back, craved the warmth of her presence, the feeling of being whole again. But alongside the yearning, a viper of rage coiled in his gut. How dare she leave him for that bloodsucking fiend? He, the mayor’s son, wasn’t good enough for her queenly desires? The ghost’s words, laced with honeyed malice, resonated with his bruised ego.
The ghost’s voice, a silken caress laced with malice, slithered back into the silence. “So much rage,” it crooned. “So much envy. It burns bright within you, Daniel Alder. A perfect ember to ignite the pyre of power.”
Daniel’s eyes, bloodshot and raw, locked with the spectral Morwenna’s reflection. “How?” he rasped. “How do I become this king you speak of? This... god?”
The ghost’s smile widened, stretching the illusion of Morwenna’s face into a grotesque parody. “Through me,” it hissed, the voice no longer sweet, but laced with a power that sent shivers down Daniel’s spine.
“Through you?” Daniel echoed, a knot of apprehension tightening in his gut. He didn’t like the glint in the ghost’s eyes, the way it seemed to relish his desperation. But the promise of power, of making Morwenna grovel, was too tempting to ignore. “How?” he repeated, the word a desperate plea.
“I’ve the power, that’s the ultimate gift,” the ghost hissed, its voice like a serpent slithering through the shadows. “Your body will become my new vassal, a vessel for my essence. Together, you’ll become unstoppable, invincible. And through me... you won’t just be a king, or a god, or a lord. You’ll be the universe itself, Daniel Alder. And Morwenna? When she sees the power you wield, she’ll crawl back to you, whimpering on the ground. Submission. Worship. That will be her fate.” The ghost chuckled, a sound like dry leaves skittering across a forgotten tomb. “They’ll fall. They’ll bow. You’ll be called you the Universe of Time.”
The ghost’s words slithered into Daniel’s mind, a seductive poison weaving its way through his thoughts.
He felt a thrill, a surge of power that coursed through his veins, a promise of vengeance against the king who had taken Morwenna. He will let him pay. He’ll get his own revenge on him. He’ll fall. He’ll burn.
“But of course, if you want me to grant you all of these things, Daniel Alder,” the ghost continued, its eyes gleaming like embers, “you’ve to just do one thing for me.”
“What is it?” Daniel’s smile was a twisted, desperate thing, mirroring the ghost’s own wicked grin.
Then, a voice, faint but insistent, whispered in the back of his mind. “Run, Daniel! Run! Don’t agree to it. She’s using you.”
He felt Emilia’s voice, a siren’s call, trying to pull him back from the precipice. But the rage, the hot, searing envy for Draven, the man who’d stolen Morwenna’s heart… it was a storm that threatened to drown out everything else.
He was falling, falling into the abyss. And was consumed by the promise of power, the seductive whispers of the ghost.
He’d ignored the prickle of unease, the insistent warnings his conscience – or maybe it was Emilia’s lingering magic – kept whispering.
“What is it?” he rasped, the question aimed at the shimmering figure trapped within.
“It’s going to be simple,” the ghost rasped. “All these things I’ve promised – power, wealth, dominion – they’re yours. All you have to do is...” a pause hung heavy in the air, thick with unspoken malice. “...Let. Me. In.”
Daniel had braced himself for some grand, arcane gesture, a blood sacrifice or a cryptic riddle. So when the voice finally coughed up its desire, it was almost laughable. “Is that all?”
A single, chilling nod confirmed it.
Yet another voice, a wisp of Emilia’s magic still clinging to his mind, screamed a warning. Did he listen? Not a chance.
“Yes,” he breathed, the word severing the last thread of Emilia’s desperate pleas.
A ghastly smile stretched across the reflection’s face.”Touch it,” it rasped. “Touch my reflection and let me possess you completely.”
Daniel, his mind clouded by the ghost’s intoxicating promises, didn’t hesitate.
He reached out, his fingertip brushing the shimmering surface of the reflection.
The floor shimmered, rippling like a disturbed pond. It wasn’t water, though. It was something else entirely, something colder, vaster. From its depths, a woman rose.
Tall and ethereal, she was draped in a flowing white gown, stained with a single, dark bloom.
The fabric clung to her form, revealing the creamy expanse of her shoulders but leaving more to the imagination than it showed.
Her hair, a cascade of copper-tinged white, flowed around her like a living thing, each strand twisting and turning like a serpent. But these were no vipers; they danced on invisible currents, their tips curling back on themselves in an unsettling mimicry of fangs.
Her violet eyes, glowed with an inner light as she chanted, the words rolling from her lips in a language both beautiful and horrifying.
He couldn’t tear his gaze away. Beautiful, yes, but there was a darkness beneath the surface, a hunger that gnawed at the edges of her ethereal form. A terrifying beauty, a predator disguised as a siren.
As the chanting reached a fever pitch, her body contorted, bending down to meet him.
Now he was on his knees, the floor cold and unforgiving beneath him.
Her face hovered inches from his, her thumb and forefinger pressing into his forehead like icy claws, her breath warm against his skin.
Daniel, his will dissolving in the face of her power, could only stare, his mind a blank canvas waiting to be painted with the ghost’s will.
The air hung thick in the room, a graveyard silence punctuated only by the ragged gasps escaping Daniel’s throat.
The ghost woman, dipped more closer, her voice a low rumble that somehow held the echoes of a thousand screams. It was calm, yet deeper than any ocean trench, layered with the desperation of devoured souls.
“Repeat after me,” she commanded. “I. Am. Yours.”
“I. Am. Yours,” Daniel repeated, his voice a hollow echo of his former self. He felt a strange sense of submission, a surrender to the power that pulsed within her.
“And. You’re. Mine,” she continued, her voice a silken whisper that caressed his soul.
“And. You’re. Mine,” he repeated, his words a mere husk of his former will.
The ghost woman smiled, her eyes glowing with an unnatural intensity.
Then, the kiss. A kiss that defied the very fabric of fate, Victoria called it.
Her lips, cool and damp, pressed onto his, stealing not just his breath, but the very essence of his being. Emilia’s warnings, those frantic whispers of a double-cross, echoed hollow in his fading mind.
The world spun, a kaleidoscope of colors blurring into a sickening gray. His eyeballs jittered in their sockets as his life force drained away. Victoria clung to him, her lips a hungry vortex. When she finally pulled back, a triumphant glint in her rekindled eyes, she snatched her fingers from his forehead. The ritual was complete.
Daniel crumpled to the floor, his body a pallid husk. A sheen of sweat slicked his skin, his once vibrant eyes were now vacant pools of fading color. His lips were parched, his blonde hair, once a crown, now a ghostly white. The vibrancy of life, stolen clean. Daniel Alder was… gone.
Victoria, revitalized, stood tall. Her pallid skin, once the color of death, now pulsed with a healthy flush. The unnatural glow in her eyes had settled into a mesmerizing amethyst. Her long, copper hair, which moments ago defied gravity, cascaded down her back in a wave.
With a flourish, she spun, the movement echoing a dark ballerina.
Reaching a mirror, she admired the reflection, lingering on the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips as a guttural gasp, half-laugh, half-sob, escaped her lips. Alive. Not just alive, but vibrant.
A feral grin, tinged with a hint of madness, split her face. “It feels good,” she breathed, the words not just for her reflection, but for someone unseen. “Wouldn’t you agree, sister?”
A beat of silence, then a strangled cry. “Victoria!”
Victoria’s grin widened. Slowly, she turned, a triumphant glint in her eyes. “Emilia,” she purred, her voice dripping with honeyed malice. “Back from the dead. Did you miss me?”