(The Devil)
He dragged his thumb across the smear of blood at the corner of her mouth. Her lips parted slightly at the touch. His jaw clenched.
“Fool,” he muttered, though he wasn’t sure if the word was for her or for himself.
“Little Flame… you’ve ruined everything.” The accusation burned bitter on his tongue, but beneath it, a quieter truth whispered: or remade it. He silenced that thought ruthlessly.
He dipped his face into her hair—unable to stop himself—breathing in the scent of her: rain-soaked earth, wild pine, and something warm and bright that didn’t belong in a mortal at all. Something that curled its fingers around his ribs and squeezed. Images he did not want flickered at the edge of his mind—her walking through his obsidian halls unafraid, her hand outstretched toward shad
