The Scarlet Contract

They said the girl from Tarsley was cursed. Vivienne had heard the whispers all her life—soft, cruel voices brushing past her like cold wind. “Don’t look into her eyes.” “Her lovers always die.” She was used to being avoided. Being watched. Being blamed for the smallest misfortunes that befell the villagers. When a baby was born sick, it was Vivienne’s shadow. When crops failed, it was the curse in her blood. But none of that mattered to her anymore—not since her mother died. Not since she learned the truth. On the night the beast came, the villagers didn’t scream. They didn’t flee or pray. They offered her. Bound in white cloth with bloodied wrists, Vivienne stood on the black stone altar in the middle of the forest. Her raven-black hair clung to her face, wet from rain. Lightning cracked above, illuminating the terrified crowd that had gathered to watch her fate. Her heart pounded—not with fear—but rage. Deep, simmering rage. They called her a curse, and now they had summoned one. “You want a curse?” she whispered. “Then I’ll give you one.” The ground trembled beneath her bare feet. Wind screamed through the trees as a tremor split the earth. From the chasm that tore through the altar, red light erupted. A deep, guttural voice echoed through the storm. “Who dares awaken me?” From the crack rose a figure. Tall, sculpted, and dripping with ancient power. His skin was pale as moonlight, bare from the waist up, with black tattoos like binding runes etched across his chest. His eyes glowed like embers. He looked human—but only just. Vivienne didn’t cower. She looked up at the creature born of shadows and blood, and answered evenly: “I am Vivienne Hartwell. And I’m the one you’ve been waiting for.” He stepped closer. The villagers fell to their knees behind her, weeping, praying, some fainting. She did not. “You carry the Mark,” he murmured, lifting his hand. A flicker of red traced the air, landing on her shoulder. Through the torn sleeve of her dress, the symbol blazed—a spiral of fire and thorn. “I didn’t choose this,” she said. “No,” he replied. “But fate did.” The wind stilled. The trees stopped swaying. Even the rain paused, frozen in time. He held out a scroll—aged, torn, and etched in something darker than ink. Blood. Old, cursed blood. “This is the Scarlet Contract,” he said. “Sign it, and live. Refuse... and your soul shall wander the void.” Vivienne’s hands trembled. Her blood still dripped from the ropes around her wrists. She looked once behind her—at the people who gave her up. And then she stepped forward. She dipped her finger in her own blood and pressed it against the parchment. The letters shimmered gold. The contract vanished into flame and smoke. From the shadows, silver chains curled around her wrists—not binding, but connecting. “You are mine now,” he said. “Wife of the Night Duke.” Suddenly, the altar shattered. The villagers screamed. Fire exploded around them in a circle, and Vivienne felt the world tilt. The Duke’s hand caught hers just before she fell. The forest, the crowd, the storm—it all vanished. Vivienne opened her eyes to darkness. She was standing in a grand hall. Enormous stained-glass windows glowed with crimson light. Marble statues of winged beasts lined the walls. A black throne stood at the far end, and the Duke stood before it, watching her. "Welcome to Midnight Keep," he said. The air felt thicker here. Heavy with magic, memory, and something older than either. Vivienne turned slowly, taking it in. Her heart beat faster. "You... you live here?" "I exist here. The word 'live' no longer applies." He gestured toward the throne. With a swirl of his cloak, he sat. "Sit." She didn’t move. "You expect me to just obey you now? Because I signed some bloody scroll?" "Yes," he said simply. "But not just because of that. Because you already belong to this place. You always have." Vivienne clenched her fists. "You’re mad." He smirked. "Perhaps. But you will see soon enough that madness and truth often sleep in the same bed." She backed away, bumping into one of the marble columns. "I want to go home." "There is no home left for you out there, Vivienne Hartwell. Not anymore. You saw it in their eyes. You are nothing but a curse to them. Here, you are something far more." She shook her head. "And what is that?" He rose and crossed the floor in an instant, faster than any man should move. His hand caught hers, pressing it over her heart. "You are the key," he said. "To my curse. To your own. And perhaps... to salvation." She looked up at him, into eyes that seemed to hold galaxies. "What are you?" "I am the one your ancestors bound," he whispered. "And the one your soul called back." Vivienne’s knees gave way. The world went black again. To be continued...