Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
The air around me seemed to thicken with the tension of something darker, more primal. This night, I realized, was about to take a very drastic turn. “What’s happening?” I whispered, my voice thick and barely audible, as if the weight of the question were too heavy to release.
Emilia’s head lifted slowly; her face contorted into a strange, mournful smile. But her eyes—her eyes were void of anything but despair.
“They are celebrating,” she said, her words soft but chilling in their detachment.
“Is your loss really something to celebrate in this way?” I asked, my voice faltering as I struggled to understand.
Her smile widened, sad and knowing. “It is an honor I never dreamed of. I am nothing but a vessel, chosen for a purpose few are ever granted.”
I swallowed hard, glancing at a nearby couple, their bodies now entwined, eyes glazed with something darker than simple revelry.
“What does that mean?” I asked, though deep down, I feared the answer.
Emilia’s voice softened, resigned yet unwavering. “I am giving myself to the feared Crematio Excludere,” she murmured as if the very name was both a curse and a blessing.
My gaze drifted up to the cross behind her—the towering, grotesque structure that loomed like a relic of ancient suffering. Crematio Excludere. The words echoed in my mind, stirring memories of the doctrine I had read. But seeing it now—seeing her tied to that cursed monument—brought the reality of it crashing over me in a suffocating wave of horror.
“This?” I breathed, my voice trembling with disbelief. The heat coursing through my body warred with the sudden, ice-cold dread settling in my chest.
I felt dizzy, disoriented, torn between the effects of whatever had been in my drink and the rising terror that gripped me. Around me, the laughter of the partygoers seemed sharper, mocking the gravity of what was unfolding on the terrace. Every sound, every breath felt amplified, as if the world were narrowing to this single moment of cruel revelation. I could hear the distant murmur of the crowd, the music still lilting in the background, as though none of them realized—or cared—what was truly happening here.
Or maybe it was me.
Maybe I was the one who was wrong for not joining them, for not falling into the rhythm of their dark celebration. I felt uncoordinated, a single heartbeat in a room of strangers who pulsed to a different, twisted rhythm. The wind carried the sound of their laughter, their whispers, their bodies entwined in languid dances, completely blind to the pain standing at the center of it all.
Emilia nodded, her sad smile fading as she gazed out at the oblivious crowd. Her voice cracked when she finally spoke, barely above a whisper. “I cannot give the man I love what he needs,” she said, her words splintering like glass. “I am no use for the Isle or his legacy.”
Her words hit me like a punch in the gut, and I gasped, struggling to keep up with the gravity of what she was saying. The puzzle pieces began to fall into place, forming a grotesque picture. The ritual I had only read about, with all its cryptic warnings, was no longer just ink on parchment. It was unfolding, right here, right now.
“You’re still a person,” I managed to choke out, grasping at anything to stop the tide of horror that threatened to drown me.
She turned her head slowly, her eyes dark with resignation. “No, Diaboli. I am nothing.”
Her words echoed in my mind, wrapping around the warmth that had begun to bloom inside me, twisting it into something ugly.
My body—traitorous and weak—was betraying me. The drink they had given me was stirring something within, making my skin tingle, and my pulse race, as though I was part of their twisted game. I hated it. I hated the pull I felt toward everything around me—the music, the people, the dark allure of the night.
And yet... my mind was torn. Half of me wanted to reach out to Emilia, to somehow save her from this fate, while the other half—drunk on whatever they had put in my veins—wanted to give in to the sensations they had ignited inside me. I felt dazed, spiraling between empathy and something darker, something that whispered to just let it all happen.
I forced myself to look at her again, to find some clarity in the confusion that clouded my mind. Emilia’s gaze met mine, and the sorrow in her eyes was palpable. It made my chest ache.
“I must be expelled from Stygian,” she said quietly, her voice calm, almost accepting. “The Isle demands it.”
Her acceptance made my stomach churn. She wasn’t fighting this. She was walking willingly facing her fate, just as I had been with Alexander without understanding it. The realization made me want to scream, but the drink—whatever poison was coursing through my blood—held me captive, blurring my senses and heightening all the wrong feelings at the worst possible time.