My name is Aurélie.
Nobody calls me that.
Not even my mother.
To everyone else, I am Melanie. The tall art student with black hair and blue eyes that do not match the rest of her. The girl who draws demons for fun. The girl who never smiles in photographs but laughs too loudly in real life.
Aurélie is a name my father chose.
He said it was his grandmother's name. Said she was the most elegant woman he had ever known. Said her eyes were like winter mornings in France.
He never took us to meet her.
And now he is gone.
Sometimes I wonder if she even exists.
Our town is small, the kind of place where everyone knows who forgot to pay rent and who is cheating on who. It sits near the sea, always grey, always damp. The air smells like salt and old wood. It feels less like a city and more like a forgotten village that accidentally grew streetlights.
Mom owns a tiny bookstore on the corner of Maple Street. It smells like dust and vanilla candles. Men visit often. They pretend to browse but they are really there to look at her.
Leila.
My mother is painfully beautiful. Dark hair that falls like silk. Golden skin. Soft brown eyes that look kind even when she is not feeling kind at all.
Since my father left, she has hated men.
She smiles politely when they bring flowers. She thanks them when they offer dinner. Then she closes the door and throws the flowers in the trash.
I think she believes loving someone is a weakness.
I think she believes she was weak once.
Joseph does not believe that.
My brother is sixteen, plays basketball, and looks like a younger, brighter version of my father. Blue eyes. Sharp smile. That half French charm. Girls hover around him like moths.
He pretends to be annoyed.
He is not.
I am the opposite.
I draw demons.
Not because I am depressed. People always assume that. No. I just find them beautiful. There is something honest about monsters. They do not pretend to be good.
Humans do.
Tonight I was finishing a charcoal sketch in my room. The rain tapped softly against the window. My desk lamp flickered once before stabilizing.
I was outlining the jaw of a creature I had seen in a dream.
Long hair. Inhumanly sharp features. Eyes that did not belong to this world.
I paused.
There it was again.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
I froze.
The sound was faint. Metallic. Steady.
I looked at my wall.
No clock.
I checked my phone.
Silent.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
It was not coming from the hallway. Not from outside. Not from downstairs.
It was inside my room.
Inside my head.
I swallowed.
"Not funny," I muttered to no one.
The ticking grew louder.
Each second pressed against my ears like a pulse.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Then silence.
Complete silence.
I exhaled slowly and forced myself to laugh.
Stress.
Midterms are coming. That is all.
I returned to my drawing.
But my hand was trembling.
That night, I dreamed of him.
He stood in the middle of darkness. No floor. No sky. Just endless black.
I could not see his face clearly. Only the outline. Tall. Broad shoulders. Long black hair cascading over something that looked like armor or maybe just shadows.
His voice echoed.
"Time is moving."
I tried to speak but my throat felt sealed.
"You hear it, do you not?"
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The sound filled the void.
He stepped closer.
The air grew heavier, like before a storm.
"Soon," he said softly.
The word curled around me like smoke.
"Soon you will be mine."
I woke up gasping.
My room was cold.
Too cold.
The ticking continued.
Not loud. Not violent.
Just steady.
Relentless.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Three weeks.
That is how long it lasted.
At first I barely slept. I searched the house for hidden clocks. I asked Joseph if he heard anything strange at night.
He looked at me like I had finally lost my mind.
Mom suggested herbal tea.
I stopped mentioning it.
The shadow came next.
At exactly 2:13 every night, I would open my eyes without knowing why.
And there it would be.
In the corner of my room.
A human shaped shadow.
Too tall to be Joseph. Too solid to be a trick of light.
It never moved.
It just stood there.
Watching.
The ticking always followed.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Strangely, I stopped being afraid.
That is the part that should worry me.
I adapted.
Like my body decided this was normal.
Like some ancient instinct whispered that I belonged to whatever was standing in that corner.
Tonight, the rain was heavier than usual. The sea was roaring somewhere in the distance.
I was painting.
Not sketching.
Painting.
Oil on canvas.
I do not know why I chose color tonight.
Maybe because I wanted to see him clearly.
The man from my dreams.
The one whose voice wrapped around my spine.
I painted his hair first. Deep black. Almost blue under light.
Then the eyes.
Grey.
Not soft grey.
Storm grey.
The kind that warns you to go inside.
I added shadows beneath his cheekbones. Defined his jaw. Sharp enough to cut.
His lips curved slightly in the painting. Not smiling. Not frowning.
Waiting.
The ticking was louder tonight.
Faster.
Tick tick tick tick.
My heartbeat tried to match it.
"You are not real," I whispered.
The shadow in the corner stretched slightly.
The room temperature dropped.
I kept painting.
His shoulders. Broad. Strong. Muscular beneath black fabric that looked like silk and armor combined.
Why do I know what he looks like?
Why does my hand move like I have seen him a thousand times?
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Then.
It stopped.
Not faded.
Stopped.
Silence hit like a physical force.
The air felt vacuumed out of the room.
I lifted my head slowly.
The shadow was no longer in the corner.
It was behind me.
I did not see it.
I felt it.
Heat against my back.
A presence that made my skin vibrate.
My brush fell from my fingers.
A hand touched my chin.
Cold and warm at the same time.
I tried to turn.
Darkness swallowed me before I could scream.
When I opened my eyes, I was not in my room.
I was lying on something soft.
Velvet.
Black velvet.
Above me stretched a ceiling too high to belong to any house in my town. Arched stone. Massive chandeliers glowing with fire instead of bulbs.
The air smelled like smoke and something sweeter.
Something sinful.
Strong arms were wrapped around me.
I stiffened.
I was sitting in someone's lap.
No.
Resting in someone's arms.
I lifted my gaze slowly.
And forgot how to breathe.
Long black hair fell over his shoulders like liquid night. His skin was pale but not sickly. Smooth. Flawless. His jaw was sculpted so sharply it looked unreal. His cheekbones cut shadows across his face.
His eyes.
Grey.
Piercing.
Ancient.
They were studying me like I was a rare object finally retrieved.
He wore black. Not casual black. Royal black. Tailored. Elegant. Fitted perfectly over a muscular frame that was impossible to ignore.
His hand rested on my waist possessively.
A slow smile curved his lips.
Beautiful.
Dangerous.
"Finally," he murmured.
His voice was deeper than in my dreams. Rich. Amused.
I pushed against his chest.
Solid.
Very solid.
"Who are you?" I demanded.
He laughed softly.
Not offended.
Entertained.
"You know who I am."
I did not.
But my body did.
My bones did.
The room behind him was enormous. A throne carved from dark stone stood a few steps away. Flames flickered along the walls without burning them.
My heart started racing.
"This is not real," I said.
His thumb brushed my lower lip slowly.
My entire body reacted traitorously.
"It is very real, Aurélie."
My name.
Not Melanie.
Aurélie.
Only my father used that name.
Only him.
"I prefer Melanie," I snapped.
He tilted his head slightly, amused again.
"I do not."
Silence stretched between us.
My eyes scanned the room.
Castle.
Stone.
Fire.
Dark banners.
This was insane.
"You fainted," he said casually. "Your human body is fragile."
"Human?" I repeated.
His smile widened.
"Yes."
Something cold settled in my stomach.
"Who," I whispered, "are you?"
He leaned closer. Close enough that I felt his breath against my cheek.
"I am Lucifer."
The name did not echo.
It did not thunder.
He said it like a simple fact.
Like saying his name was Michael.
I stared at him.
He waited.
Arrogant.
Confident.
Certain I would believe him.
"You are insane," I said finally.
He laughed.
A full, genuine laugh.
The sound echoed beautifully through the hall.
Then his expression changed.
Subtle.
But deadly serious.
"I am the King of Hell."
My pulse stuttered.
"You are mine," he added softly.
The words did not sound romantic.
They sounded like law.
I swallowed.
"What do you mean?"
He traced a finger along my jaw slowly.
"You will marry me."
The room seemed to tilt.
"No."
Not scared.
Not crying.
Just firm.
He studied my face like I was fascinating.
"You have one month," he continued calmly. "One month to prepare your family."
"My family?" My voice cracked slightly despite myself.
"You may tell them you are leaving. That you have found love. That you are moving. I do not care."
His eyes darkened.
"But you will not tell your friends."
Katy.
Orla.
"If you do," he said gently, "I will kill them."
The threat was not loud.
Not dramatic.
That made it worse.
I stared at him.
Trying to find a joke.
A crack.
Anything.
There was none.
"You are lying," I whispered.
He leaned back slightly, still holding me easily in his arms.
"I never lie."
His fingers tightened just enough on my waist to remind me how easily he could break me.
"You belong to me, Aurélie. You always have."
A chill ran down my spine.
"What are you talking about?"
His grey eyes gleamed.
"That," he said softly, "is a story for another night."
And for the first time since waking up in this castle, I felt something close to fear.
Because deep inside me, beneath the anger and disbelief, there was something else.
Recognition.
Like I had been walking toward this moment my entire life.
And I did not know whether I wanted to run.
Or step closer.
Lucifer's smile returned, slow and devastating.
"Welcome home," he whispered.
And the flames behind him rose higher.