CHOSEN BY LUCIFER

Her bedroom was cloaked in darkness, heavy and looming, as if it were watching her. The shadows felt alive, shifting with her every breath. She couldn’t remember how she got hurt, but she was bleeding. Warm, sticky trails slid down her arm, and a strange numbness filled her chest. She tried to scream, but the sound was trapped somewhere deep inside her—muffled, strangled. She turned to the window. And there he was. Standing beneath the pale moonlight, just beyond the glass. Still. Silent. Watching. His face was emotionless, like a painting drained of color, and yet his eyes locked with hers like he knew her pain. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just watched as she bled. She tried to call for him, tried to form words—but before she could, a cold hand touched her from behind. She reacted without thinking, lashing out. She jolted upright with a gasp. Her heart thundered in her chest as her eyes locked on the person she had just struck. Harriet—her sister—was on the floor, dazed. “I’m sorry... I’m so sorry. Are you hurt?” Aria scrambled toward her, guilt twisting in her gut. Harriet raised a hand to stop her and slowly stood on her own. “I’m fine,” she said softly. “The nightmare again?” she asked, brushing herself off and sitting on the bed. “Yeah,” Aria breathed. “But it was different tonight. I think… I saw his face.” “What did he look like?” Harriet’s eyes sparked with curiosity, like she was hearing a juicy secret. “I can’t remember,” Aria said, frustrated. “It’s already slipping away.” “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine. You’ve got me,” Harriet said with a smile, getting to her feet. “Now come on—our dresses for the ball just arrived. Mom asked me to wake you so you could try yours on.” “I thought we agreed I wasn’t going,” Aria replied, puzzled “Well, plans changed. Mom’s friend’s daughter is going, and pretty much everyone else. So why not you?” Harriet paused at the door and turned back. “Just one party, Aria.” When she left, the silence returned like a familiar blanket. Aria stared at her bedroom mirror—cracked. A thin fracture ran down the center, like something had tried to claw its way through. And just for a second, she thought she saw her reflection smile. **** The palace loomed like a storybook secret—tall, elegant, and bathed in silver moonlight. Vines climbed its old stone walls like veins of emerald, and golden lights glowed in every window, giving it the look of a sleeping giant gently breathing. Their parents weren’t wealthy, but they’d saved enough to hire a modest Charlotte—a sleek, charm-run carriage with fading enchantments and warm velvet seats. It wasn’t grand, but it felt like magic. Enough to make Harriet squeal the moment the palace came into view. “Will you look at that?” she gasped, leaning across Aria to press her face to the window. “It’s like something out of a fairy tale. Ugh—I knew I should’ve worn the gold necklace. The way those chandeliers are glowing? It would’ve caught the light perfectly.” Aria sat still, her hands folded in her lap. She said nothing. Just watched as lanterns floated above the gravel path, swaying like soft stars. Her heart was a slow, steady drum. Her dress, dark green with delicate bronze embroidery, clung a little too tightly. The brown mask resting on her face was plain beside Harriet’s shimmering silver one, but that suited her fine. “You’re quiet again,” Harriet said, elbowing her gently as the carriage rolled to a stop. “You always get like this before things. You overthink.” “I’m just taking it in,” Aria said softly. ••• Inside, the ballroom was breathtaking. Vaulted ceilings soared overhead, carved with constellations and old stories she didn’t know. A thousand candles floated midair in crystal orbs, casting a warm, golden glow across the polished floor. Silken drapes flowed like waves from the upper balconies, and music curled through the air—light, dreamy, and laced with laughter. Everyone looked perfect. Gowns spun like petals on a breeze. Masks shimmered with jewels and feathers. The scent of spiced wine and enchanted roses lingered like perfume. Aria hesitated at the threshold. She didn’t belong here. Not among these perfect people with their practiced smiles and expensive silks. But Harriet tugged her hand. “Come on,” she grinned. “One night. One party. You can at least pretend to have fun.” So Aria stepped inside. And instantly, the music seemed to pull her in deeper than sound should. One moment, Harriet was beside her, whispering about someone’s dress or smile. The next, she had vanished into the crowd—laughing, dancing, already charmed by the attention of some grinning boy in a red mask. That left Aria standing alone She drifted to the edge of the room, where the music softened and the shadows gathered. Her eyes traced the edges of the marble floor, the glimmering walls, the endless whirls of movement. She didn’t fit. Not just because of the dress or the mask. Because unlike every other wolf in this room, she had never shifted. Not once. In a pack full of howls and claws, she remained the quiet one. The one without a form. The secret her family never shared, the girl who watched the moon rise and felt nothing stir inside her. And now, surrounded by elegance and laughter, her secret felt heavier than ever. Like something was about to break. She lingered near a pillar wrapped in golden silk, letting the noise of the ballroom pass through her like smoke. Laughter. Music. Feet spinning on marble. None of it touched her. Two people had already asked her to dance. She declined both with a polite shake of her head and a distant smile, but her voice never rose above a murmur. She was already bored. Uncomfortable. She didn't belong here—and she never had. When forced into places like this, she usually clung to Harriet like a second skin. But tonight, her sister was a blur of silver and sound, twirling through the ballroom like she’d been born to dazzle. Aria gave her one last glance—Harriet, glowing, laughing, lost in it all—then turned away and slipped out the nearest door. The hallway outside was colder. Quieter. Shadows clung to the corners like secrets. Paintings lined the walls, old and strange, some faded by time, others pulsing with color like they'd been freshly painted just yesterday. She walked slowly, her fingers brushing the cool stone wall. Then she stopped. A painting caught her eye. A moon—full, high—cracked down the middle by a jagged streak of lightning. The sky around it looked bruised, angry. She reached out, touched the canvas lightly. Something about it made her chest tighten. Then she noticed the stairs. A narrow flight of stone tucked into a corner, partially hidden behind a faded velvet drape. It climbed upward, spiraling out of sight. She should’ve turned back. But the pull was there—quiet, firm, undeniable. Her footsteps were soft on the worn steps, the only sound her breath and the faint hum of magic in the walls. At the top, the world opened up. The rooftop was vast and empty, soaked in moonlight and wind. The palace grounds below stretched endlessly—gardens like dark veins, towers like teeth. Beautiful. Haunting. She stepped out, meaning only to breathe. But then she saw him. A man stood near the edge of the rooftop, his back to her. Still. Tall. Dressed in black from shoulder to boot. The mask he wore was horned and carved in cruel, regal curves—part beast, part god. He didn't turn. Not at first. But she knew—he felt her. The air between them bent strangely, like a cord had tightened. Then— He turned. Not all the way. Just enough to look at her. And even though the mask hid his face, she felt the weight of his stare hit her like a stone. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Her instincts screamed. Run. And so she did. She turned fast, yanked up her dress, and bolted back down the stairs, the cold stone biting into her skin through her shoes. She didn’t look back. Couldn’t. She didn’t stop until she was back at the threshold of the ballroom, breath sharp, heartbeat pounding like it wanted out of her chest. She looked over her shoulder. Empty stairwell. He hadn’t followed. He hadn't moved. But the silence behind her felt... intentional. As though she’d just walked out of something ancient. And it had let her go. For now. A strange twist settled in her chest. Not fear. Not quite. It felt like being seen. She took a breath, smoothed her dress, and stepped back into the sea of gold and silk. She spotted Harriet across the ballroom, still dancing like she had no idea anything had changed. Aria lifted a hand—just a small wave to say I’m fine. Then she moved toward the bar, needing something cold. Something sharp. But even as the crowd swallowed her again, she couldn’t shake it. That feeling. The man in the mask had seen her. Not just noticed. Seen. And deep inside her chest, something stirred. Something that had been asleep a very long time. some ancient but real.