Another Valentine Alone
1621 Words
The storm clung to the city like a desperate lover that refused to be ignored—wild, relentless, and aching to be felt. Wind howled through the narrow streets, rattling windows and bending the glow of neon lights into fractured streaks of color. Snow fell in sharp, slanted lines, as if the sky itself had lost patience.
Inside her apartment, Aria Solenne barely noticed.
She sat curled into the corner of her worn velvet sofa, knees pulled tightly to her chest, her phone glowing faintly against her face. The world inside that screen felt louder than the storm outside—brighter, warmer, unbearably alive.
Another swipe.
A couple laughing over champagne.
Another swipe.
Roses—dozens of them, wrapped in silk ribbon.
Another swipe.
A soft kiss beneath golden lights.
Aria let out a quiet, humorless laugh, the sound hollow even to her own ears.
“Love is for dreamers,” she murmured, tossing the phone onto the cushion beside her. “And I stopped dreaming a long time ago.”
The words lingered in the air, heavier than she intended.
Silence followed.
It wasn’t the peaceful kind. It wasn’t the comforting kind. It was the kind that pressed against her chest, slow and suffocating, filling every corner of the apartment until it felt too small for her own thoughts.
Too empty.
She exhaled sharply and stood, crossing the room with quiet, practiced steps. The wooden floor creaked faintly beneath her bare feet as she reached for the bottle of wine waiting on the counter. She poured herself a glass, watching the dark liquid catch the dim light—deep crimson, almost like blood trapped in crystal.
Fitting, she thought.
Romantic, even.
If she still believed in romance.
Aria carried the glass back to the window, her reflection ghosting faintly against the storm beyond. Outside, the world blurred into motion—snow streaking past neon café signs, where silhouettes of couples leaned into each other, sharing warmth she refused to admit she missed.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the glass.
She turned away.
“I don’t need that,” she said under her breath, though the words lacked conviction.
The storm answered with a violent gust of wind.
The lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then everything went dark.
Aria froze, the sudden absence of light swallowing the room whole. Even the storm seemed distant now, muffled by the heavy quiet that followed.
“Perfect,” she muttered, her voice softer this time.
She set her wine glass down carefully and moved through the darkness by memory, fingers grazing the edge of the table until they found the small box of matches. A sharp strike broke the silence, and a brief spark flared before settling into a thin, wavering flame.
She lit a single candle.
Its glow was fragile—barely enough to push back the shadows—but it was something.
It had to be enough.
Aria turned—
And stilled.
At first, she thought it was nothing more than exhaustion playing tricks on her mind. A distortion in the dim light. A flicker in her vision.
But it didn’t disappear.
It grew.
A shimmer pulsed in the far corner of the room, subtle at first, like heat bending the air above pavement. Then it deepened, stretching upward, widening, shaping itself into something unmistakable.
A doorway.
Or at least… something pretending to be one.
It was outlined in a deep crimson glow, intricate patterns etching themselves into its frame like veins of living light. The air around it hummed softly, a low vibration that resonated through her chest.
Alive.
Aria’s breath caught in her throat.
“What the hell…”
Every instinct she had whispered the same thing.
Don’t.
Don’t move.
Don’t touch it.
Don’t even look.
But curiosity—sharp, relentless, dangerous—cut through that fear like a blade.
Slowly, she stepped forward.
The candle flame flickered violently, shadows leaping across the walls as if trying to pull her back. The closer she moved, the louder the hum became, until it felt like it was inside her head.
Calling her.
The glow pulsed again.
Stronger this time.
Closer.
Aria reached out—
The candle went out.
Darkness crashed down around her.
The floor seemed to tilt beneath her feet, reality slipping like something unanchored.
And then—
She fell.
The cold hit her first.
Sharp. Immediate. Real.
Aria gasped as she landed hard against snow, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs. The world spun, disoriented, until she forced herself upright, her hands pressing into the frozen ground beneath her.
Snow.
Real snow.
Not the distant, untouchable kind from behind a window—but cold, biting, and undeniably real.
Her breath came out in visible clouds as she looked up.
And everything inside her stilled.
The sky above wasn’t black.
It wasn’t even a color she could name.
It shimmered in deep shades of violet and indigo, streaked with soft currents of light that moved like living things. Towering spires rose in the distance, impossibly tall, their surfaces glinting like glass and crystal. Warm golden light spilled from their windows, glowing like suspended lanterns in the night.
Music drifted through the air.
Not from a single source—but everywhere.
Soft. Haunting. Beautiful.
Unreal.
Aria pushed herself to her feet, her pulse racing as she turned slowly, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.
“This… this can’t be real.”
But it was.
It had to be.
Figures moved across the snow-covered landscape—elegant, masked, draped in fabrics that shimmered like starlight. Their laughter rang through the air like distant bells, light and melodic, yet carrying something deeper beneath it.
Something she couldn’t quite name.
Above them, creatures drifted through the sky—winged, luminous, glowing faintly as they soared in slow, graceful arcs.
Everything was beautiful.
Too beautiful.
The kind of beauty that made her chest tighten—not with wonder, but with unease.
“Careful.”
The voice cut cleanly through the music.
Aria spun around.
He stood just behind her.
Tall. Still. Watching.
His presence felt… wrong.
Not dangerous—not yet—but powerful in a way that made the air feel heavier around him. He wore a cloak of deep midnight blue, the fabric shifting subtly as though woven from shadows themselves. A silver mask concealed his face, catching the lantern light with a quiet, cold gleam.
Before she could step back, his hand closed gently—but firmly—around her arm, steadying her.
The contact sent a sharp jolt through her.
Aria pulled away instantly, her heart pounding.
“Who are you?”
His grip loosened, but he didn’t step back.
“Lucien Vale,” he said, his voice smooth, controlled—too calm for someone standing in a place like this.
“And you…” His gaze lingered on her, something unreadable flickering behind the mask. “You don’t belong here.”
Something in his tone sparked defiance.
Aria lifted her chin, refusing to shrink under his scrutiny.
“Neither do half the people at that masquerade, I’d bet.”
For a moment, silence stretched between them.
Then—
A faint smile touched his lips.
It wasn’t warm.
It wasn’t kind.
It was… interested.
“You’re bold,” Lucien said quietly. “That will either save you… or destroy you.”
A shiver ran down her spine.
Not from the cold.
From him.
The music swelled, richer now, pulling her attention toward the distant gates of the glowing city. Light spilled through them in waves, illuminating the masked figures drifting toward it like moths drawn to a flame.
Lucien’s hand returned to her elbow—lighter this time, but no less certain.
Grounding.
Guiding.
Controlling.
Aria didn’t pull away.
Not this time.
“What is this place?” she asked, her voice quieter now, edged with something she didn’t want to name.
Lucien tilted his head slightly, as though considering how much truth she deserved.
“A world,” he said at last, “that doesn’t forgive outsiders.”
The words settled heavily between them.
Aria swallowed, her gaze drifting once more toward the glowing city—toward the music, the masks, the impossible beauty of it all.
Fear curled low in her stomach.
But something else rose with it.
Something sharper.
Stronger.
Curiosity.
“Then maybe…” she said slowly, her voice steadier than she felt, “I was meant to be here.”
Lucien’s smile deepened.
This time, it felt like a warning.
“We’ll see.”
Before she could respond, the music shifted.
Not louder.
Not softer.
Different.
A low, resonant note echoed through the air, deep enough to be felt in her bones. The masked figures stopped moving. The laughter faded. Even the glowing creatures above seemed to still, their light dimming ever so slightly.
The world… held its breath.
Aria frowned. “What was that?”
For the first time, Lucien didn’t answer immediately.
His grip on her arm tightened.
Not enough to hurt.
But enough to tell her something had changed.
Something important.
Something wrong.
“Lucien?” she pressed.
Slowly—too slowly—he turned his head toward the towering gates.
And when he spoke, his voice was no longer calm.
“They’ve noticed you.”
A cold dread slid down her spine.
“Who—?”
The gates burst open.
Light flooded the horizon—
Blinding.
Violent.
Alive.
And from within it, something began to emerge.
Something that made even Lucien take a step back.
Aria’s breath caught as the music died completely, leaving only the sound of her own heartbeat—
And the unmistakable feeling…
That she had just made the worst mistake of her life.
- Writer
