KISS THE DARK

The night had always been Selene Veyra’s sanctuary. When the world grew too loud, too sharp, she would slip from her father’s estate and wander into the garden, barefoot across the damp grass, where the silence hummed with secrets only she seemed able to hear. The stars above whispered stories of forgotten queens and doomed lovers, and the moon—always the moon—felt like a confidante who never judged her heart’s restless beating. It was here, among the roses and the night-blooming jasmine, that Lyra Caelis found her. “Again?” Lyra’s voice cut through the cool hush, half amusement, half exasperation. “You’ll catch your death one of these nights.” Selene turned, and there she was: Lyra, her dearest friend, her shadow in daylight and solace in darkness. Her golden hair caught the faint glow of moonlight, a halo that always made Selene feel like a moth circling a flame. Lyra’s presence had always been intoxicating, dangerous, yet she had never imagined it could ever burn her. “I couldn’t sleep,” Selene murmured, brushing soil from her skirts. “It feels like something is…waiting.” Lyra tilted her head, a smile curving her lips though her eyes—green and sharp as glass—flickered briefly with something unreadable. “You and your feelings. Always seeing omens in shadows.” Selene laughed softly, though unease stirred low in her chest. It was true; she felt too much. The smallest changes in tone, the faintest shift of expression—she noticed everything. And tonight, for reasons she couldn’t explain, Lyra felt…different. “Come inside,” Lyra urged, slipping her arm through Selene’s. “You’ll make me worry myself sick if you keep wandering out here like some tragic heroine waiting to be stolen away by the night.” Selene smiled, letting herself be led back into the house, unaware that in some cruel twist of fate, Lyra’s words were more prophecy than jest. The next morning, the world was bright and deceptively ordinary. Selene sat at the long breakfast table, absently stirring honey into her tea while her father droned on about trade routes and courtly alliances. He was a stern man, forged from duty and expectation, and she had long since learned that silence was the safest way to survive his scrutiny. Across the table, Lyra caught her eye, winking playfully as if to pull her back into the secret language only they shared. Selene’s lips twitched with the ghost of a smile. Even when the weight of her father’s presence pressed down like a stone, Lyra could still lift it, if only for a heartbeat. “You’ll attend the gathering tonight,” her father said suddenly, his gaze pinning her like a hawk’s. “It is time you were seen. Time people remembered that you are my daughter.” Selene nodded obediently, though her stomach tightened. She hated the gatherings—the shallow chatter, the endless measuring of worth, the careful dance of smiles concealing knives. Still, she had no choice. Lyra leaned closer, whispering so only Selene could hear. “We’ll make it tolerable. You and I against the world, like always.” Selene’s chest warmed at the words. She wanted to believe them. She always had. The gathering that evening was a masquerade of velvet and wine. Chandeliers spilled golden light across a sea of jeweled gowns and brocade coats, laughter tinkling like broken glass as the powerful and the ambitious circled each other like predators. Selene moved quietly through it all, her mask a fragile shield. Lyra, however, shone. She belonged in such rooms, her beauty a beacon that drew eyes and admiration wherever she turned. And though Selene had long accepted living in Lyra’s glow, tonight a strange chill threaded through her veins as she watched her friend charm men twice her age with smiles that never quite reached her eyes. “Does it not exhaust you?” Selene whispered when they finally found a moment alone, tucked in the shadow of a balcony. “Pretending all the time?” Lyra’s laughter was soft, almost pitying. “Oh, Selene. Pretending is survival. You’ll understand one day.” Something in her tone made Selene falter. It wasn’t the playful teasing she expected. It was colder, sharper. A sliver of something that felt like distance. Before she could ask more, a stranger brushed past, his eyes lingering on her with peculiar intensity. His presence was fleeting, gone in an instant, but the look—dark, hungry, ancient—lingered. Selene’s breath caught, and for a heartbeat, she swore she felt a whisper in her ear though no one stood beside her. Not yet. She shivered. Lyra’s hand closed over hers, grounding her. But when Selene looked up, expecting concern, she found only curiosity in her friend’s gaze. As though Lyra had noticed the shiver but was cataloging it, studying it, rather than soothing it. The unease spread. By midnight, Selene’s head ached from the clamor. She slipped away from the revelry, wandering down an empty corridor lit only by the silver kiss of moonlight. The silence was a balm—until she heard voices. Her name. Spoken in Lyra’s voice. She froze. Pressing herself against the wall, she edged closer to the half-open door from which the whispers leaked. “…she suspects nothing,” Lyra was saying, her tone smooth, almost bored. “Selene trusts me blindly. She always has. It will be easy.” A man’s voice replied, low and cruel. “Do not fail. Her blood is the key.” Selene’s breath lodged in her throat. Blood. Key. The words made no sense, yet dread curled through her like smoke. She should have turned away, fled, but she couldn’t. Her body felt rooted to the floor, her heart a frantic drum in her ears. Lyra laughed softly, a sound that used to be her comfort, now twisted into something jagged. “When have I ever failed?” The man chuckled, dark and approving. Selene’s world tilted. She stumbled back, the floorboards creaking beneath her weight. Silence. Then footsteps. Panic seized her. She turned and ran. Through the halls, down the staircases, out into the cold night where the air was sharp with frost. She ran until her lungs burned, until the manor was a blur behind her, until she collapsed in the garden where the roses clawed at her hands. Her chest heaved, her mind a storm of denial and dread. Lyra. Her Lyra. Could it be true? The shadows seemed to lean closer as if listening. And then she saw him. At the edge of the garden, half-hidden in darkness, a figure watched her. Tall, still, eyes glowing red as embers in the night. Selene’s breath hitched. She could not move, could not scream. The world held its breath with her. And then—he smiled. Selene did not sleep that night. She stayed in the garden long after the red-eyed stranger vanished into the dark, her body trembling as if the earth itself had shifted beneath her. The memory of Lyra’s voice—smooth, confident, treacherous—rang in her ears. She suspects nothing. Her blood is the key. Her chest tightened with every echo of those words, each repetition another crack through the glass of her world. By dawn, Selene forced herself back inside, moving quietly as though the walls themselves could betray her. She slipped into her chambers and bolted the door, pressing her forehead against the wood, whispering to herself: “No. It’s not true. I misunderstood. I had to.” But the conviction in Lyra’s voice haunted her. Lyra hadn’t sounded coerced or frightened. She had sounded… eager. Certain. And that certainty was more terrifying than the stranger’s glowing eyes. When Selene finally emerged hours later, Lyra was waiting. She sat on the edge of Selene’s bed as though she owned it, sunlight weaving through her hair in golden ribbons. She smiled, radiant and unshaken, as though nothing at all had happened. “There you are,” Lyra said, rising gracefully. “I thought you’d vanished on me after last night.” Selene’s throat tightened. She studied her friend’s face for some sign of duplicity, some flicker that would prove her ears had deceived her. But Lyra’s mask was flawless. She looked every inch the loyal companion, the sister of Selene’s heart. “I was tired,” Selene managed, voice thin. Lyra’s hand came to rest on hers. “Then you should have told me. You know I’d never leave you to suffer alone.” The lie burned more than the memory of betrayal. Selene smiled faintly, though her hand trembled beneath Lyra’s touch. “I know.” And she hated how easily the lie slipped from her own lips. The day dragged in a haze of unease. Selene went through the motions—walking the halls, listening to her father’s lectures, pretending to laugh when Lyra said something clever—but beneath it all, a current of dread pulled her deeper. Every glance Lyra gave her now felt sharper. Every word sounded like a double-edged blade, polished to perfection. Yet Selene could not confront her. Not yet. To accuse her dearest friend without proof would make Selene look paranoid, unstable. Worse, if Lyra truly had betrayed her, Selene needed to know why. So she watched. She listened. And she pretended. That evening, Lyra coaxed her into the woods. “It’s too stifling in there,” Lyra said, linking arms with her as though the world was still theirs. “Come. Let’s breathe, Selene. Just you and me.” The woods at twilight were painted in hues of violet and ash, shadows stretching long between the trees. The air smelled of damp earth and wildflowers, but Selene’s lungs felt tight. Every instinct screamed at her to turn back, yet Lyra’s grip was firm, guiding her deeper into the dark. “Do you remember when we were children?” Lyra asked suddenly. “When we swore we’d always choose each other, no matter what?” Selene nodded, her throat thick. “I remember.” Lyra smiled wistfully, her green eyes glinting in the fading light. “Good. Then trust me now, as you always have.” It should have been comforting. Instead, it felt like a warning. They reached a clearing where the moon spilled silver across the grass. Lyra released her arm and stepped forward, tilting her head as if listening to something Selene could not hear. Then—out of the shadows—he emerged. The man from the masquerade. The one with eyes like burning coals. Selene’s heart stuttered. “You,” she whispered. Lyra turned, smiling not at Selene but at him. “Riven.” The name slid from her lips like a secret long kept. He regarded Selene with a slow, assessing gaze, as though peeling back every layer of her being. “So this is the girl.” His voice was low, resonant, threaded with something inhuman. Selene stumbled back, her pulse thrumming in terror. “Lyra… who is he?” Lyra’s smile was soft, almost pitying. “The truth, Selene. The world is so much bigger than you imagine. And your place in it—our place in it—is about to change.” Riven’s lips curved in a cold approximation of amusement. “She doesn’t know. How quaint.” Selene shook her head, fear clawing up her spine. “Know what?” Lyra stepped closer, her face bathed in moonlight, her beauty sharp enough to wound. “That you were never meant to be ordinary. That your blood is more than life—it is power.” The words struck like a blade. They confirmed what Selene had overheard. Her knees weakened. “You betrayed me.” Something flickered in Lyra’s gaze—not guilt, not sorrow. Hunger. “No, Selene. I saved you. You’ll understand soon.” Riven moved with impossible speed, a blur of shadows and moonlight, until he stood inches from Selene. His presence suffocated, ancient and vast. The heat of his gaze seared her skin. “Careful,” he murmured to Lyra, though his eyes never left Selene. “She smells of fear. Too much, and she may break before she’s useful.” Selene’s breath shattered in her chest. “Useful? For what?” Lyra reached out, her hand cupping Selene’s cheek with the same tenderness she had once offered in moments of comfort. But her touch now felt foreign, poisoned. “For everything,” Lyra whispered. Selene tore away, heart hammering, but the woods closed in around her. Riven’s figure blurred and reappeared before her path in the span of a blink. She gasped, stumbling back, her chest tight with panic. “What are you?” she demanded. Riven’s smile was sharp, inhuman. “The dark you’ve always felt watching. The shadow that stirs when the moon is high.” His head tilted, eyes gleaming. “And now, the only one who can decide your fate.” Selene’s blood ran cold. Lyra’s voice was gentle, coaxing, betraying none of the cruelty that laced her words. “Don’t fight it, Selene. Let it happen. Trust me, as you always have.” But Selene saw the truth now. Trust was a chain, and Lyra had wrapped it around her neck. And in that moment, Selene realized—if she stayed, she would never leave these woods alive.