Chapter Text
Narrator:
> _“A rose… how delicately it deceives. A symbol of devotion, yet born of thorn and blood.
You who worship beauty — do you not sense the cruelty behind the bloom?
There was once one who knelt in gardens, not altars. He whispered prayers to petals, not gods.
But even the purest bud festers in shadow… when the heart behind it rots.
What is longing, if not the seed of ruin?
What is memory, if not the stem from which madness grows?
Petals fall.
Flesh withers.
Yet desire… it endures.
And in that yearning, something new takes root.
Not love.
Not peace.
But hunger.
A bloom that never dies.
And those who breathe its scent — will never escape.”_
---
Scene Title: "The Queen of a Hundred Deaths"
Setting: Winter night in a secluded forest, the fire crackles softly as snow settles on the edges of the campsite. A lean, makeshift tent shields them from the worst of the cold, but it's Margot's voice that brings real warmth—and dread.
Characters Present:
Margot, 32 years old, weary yet sharp, half-watchful, half-playful
Adonis, 17, loyal, earnest, brave but inexperienced
Blacky Jr., their ever-alert shepherd dog, resting with ears flicking at every rustle
---
[Dialogue and Narrative Interwoven]
Margot stared into the fire, flames dancing like memories in her eyes.
Margot: "Did I ever tell you about the Queen who slept with one hundred men in one night?"
Adonis, polishing the blade of his sword, glanced up, skeptical.
Adonis: "Sounds like a tavern story."
Margot (smiling faintly): "No... this tale was found deep in the archives of the Monastery of Saint Abbey where I worked there as a monk in disguise. And the stone tablet it was carved on reeked of incense and dried blood."
Adonis frowned, intrigued despite himself. The night had grown colder. Snow swirled lazily beyond the firelight.
Margot (lowering her voice): "Her name was Semiramis. Babylon's jewel. Beautiful beyond words. Brilliant, fearless, beloved. But something changed. Power whispered darker truths to her..."
---
[Visual Flashback Style Monologue – Margot narrating while the fire flickers]
"They said she summoned hooded priests from lands forgotten by maps. Consulted stars older than gods. Walked corridors perfumed by sulfur and dreams. Then one night... she called for a hundred slaves."
"Men chosen not for their strength, but for something else. Something... metaphysical. Their blood held certain signs. Birthmarks. Bone structures. Traits passed from ancient, sleeping ancestors."
"They thought they were chosen for glory. But by dawn, only their souls remained. Consumed."
Adonis tensed. The wind outside howled low and hollow.
"She believed she could become immortal. Not in name, not in statue, but in essence. She fed on their spirits. Their dying breaths, sealed with lips."
---
[Back to present – dialogue resumes]
Adonis: "You really know how to ruin a night’s rest, Margot."
Margot: "Oh come now, I haven't even told you how she bathed in grave oils and spoke in dead tongues."
Adonis laughed nervously. Then—SNAP.
A branch somewhere beyond the fire cracked sharply. Adonis was on his feet in seconds, sword out, eyes wide.
Adonis (tense): "Did you hear that?!"
He turned in circles, scanning the dark treeline. Then—a sudden movement from behind—
Margot: "Boo."
Adonis yelped and nearly swung his sword.
Adonis: "Margot!"
Blacky Jr. barked, startled, then padded over, wagging with sleepy irritation. Margot stifled a laugh.
Margot (snickering): "Your face! Gods above, I wish I had a painting of that."
Adonis (grumbling): "One day you’ll scare me into stabbing a tree. Or you."
Margot: "Wouldn’t be the first time a woman met her end because of too many ghost stories."
They both laughed gently. The fire crackled, snow whispered.
Adonis: "Still… that story. Did she really do all that?"
Margot (somber): "I think... yes. Some people reach so far for power they tear the world around them. And she didn’t die. She transformed."
A pause. The trees beyond creaked in the wind.
Margot (quietly): "But stories like hers don’t end. They just... wait."
---
Behind the camp, unseen, a pair of glowing red eyes blinked from the shadows. Then another. And another.
The cold deepens. The flames hiss against the gathering dread.
---
Scene: Winter Morning Revelation
The cold of the forest hadn’t faded with dawn. Mist hovered low over the snow-covered ground, the skeletal trees creaking as if whispering secrets long buried. Adonis stood still, one hand on the hilt of his sword, the other clutching a strip of dried meat he hadn’t yet eaten. He stared into the soft glow of morning firelight, flickering from their dying campfire.
Margot still slept beneath her travel cloak, the cold doing little to disturb her steady breathing.
Adonis’s mind echoed with fragments of the ghost tale Margot had told the night before. Queen Semiramis... A hundred lives taken in one night. Lust disguised as power. Ambition corrupted by forbidden knowledge. His jaw tightened.
"Just like him..." he muttered under his breath. He didn’t say the name, but it formed in his heart with quiet fury. The false savior. The self-anointed divine king.
Then it came—a scream.
Sharp. Human. Female.
Adonis dropped the meat. “Margot, we’ve got a problem!”
She bolted upright, alert in seconds. No words were needed. They ran.
Through the woods, their boots crunched frost-bitten earth and tripped over roots, chasing the sound. They reached a clearing—and froze.
A girl, barely clothed, bruised and bloodied, was pinned beneath a grotesque beast.
It had the wingspan of an eagle, but the spurs and legs of a rooster. Its claws dug into the ground with unholy precision. Feathers jutted like blades, sharp and shining. But its face—horribly—was that of a woman, distorted with lust and hunger.
And beneath its feathered lower belly...
Adonis recoiled.
“That... thing... is going to—"
The monster leaned down toward the struggling girl.
Adonis roared and charged, but the beast anticipated him. With a flick of its wings, it slammed him aside. His sword spun into the air and landed far beyond reach.
Margot stepped forward. Her breath misted with cold fury. She cracked her nine-tailed whip.
SNAP! It lashed the creature’s back.
It screeched.
The monster lunged at her, feathers cutting the air like thrown daggers. She dodged, spun, and slashed again. The tail coiled and struck its eye. One claw caught her side—a slash of pain and warmth as blood ran down her coat.
The monster sniffed.
Then it screeched in pain.
Smoke rose from its face where Margot’s blood had splashed. It stumbled backward, wings trembling.
Adonis, from the snow, gaped. “What the hell...?”
Margot stood, surrounded now by a faint, glowing blue aura. Invisible to normal eyes, but not to the apostle.
The creature recoiled, trembling. “You... are marked.”
It spoke in a voice distorted by layers of sound, male and female together.
Then it hissed, prophesying in a shuddering tongue:
“The thorn shall bloom one last time. Soon when she turns thirty-three, blood shall rise. Flesh shall ascend. Death shall kiss divinity.”
It turned to Adonis, its beady eyes filled with cruel joy.
“And you, boy of swords... the ocean shall be your grave. Storms shall scatter your soul. You shall drown with thunder in your lungs, and wake not from the slumber of tides.”
The forest silenced.
“You seek shelter... but the forest will not grant it. Sleep here, and never wake again.”
With that, the monster spread its wings and launched into the sky. It vanished into the clouds, leaving only the howling wind behind.
Margot collapsed to her knees, breathing heavy. Adonis crawled over to her, stunned.
The girl they had saved lay unconscious, but alive.
Adonis placed a hand on Margot’s shoulder. “You alright?”
Margot nodded slowly, then looked at the sky.
“It knows what we don’t want to admit. We’re running out of time.”
They looked around. No forest, no path, no campfire would shield them now. Only movement, only purpose, only resolve could carry them forward.
And far off in the sky, red feathers drifted slowly down through falling snow.
---
🌲 Third Scene: The Woods and the Cottage
The smoke of the strange prophecy still lingered like a shadow in the back of their minds, but there was no time to dwell. A life had just been saved, and now a girl stood before them—shaken, covered in dirt, shivering, but alive.
She clutched Margot’s hand with trembling fingers.
> "Thank you... thank you so much for saving me," the girl breathed out, her voice ragged from the scream that had nearly been her last.
Adonis, catching his breath and still gripping his recovered sword, looked the girl over, cautious. "Are you alright? You’re wounded."
She shook her head quickly. "No... just scratches. I came early this morning to collect firewood... I live with my grandmother, deeper in the woods. We gather herbs, mushrooms, and berries for the village nearby. People mock me, they call me ‘little red riding hood’ for wearing this old red shawl of mine... but I never thought I’d run into something so... monstrous."
Her voice cracked at the memory, and she pulled the torn fabric of her shawl around her in vain. Margot quietly unfastened her own cloak and placed it gently over the girl’s shoulders.
> "Take this. You’re cold. And lucky to be alive."
The girl gave her a grateful glance, tears misting her eyes.
> "You’re too kind... travelers like you shouldn’t be here. This part of the forest... it’s cursed, people say."
Adonis leaned closer. "We’re looking for someone. Three people—a tall man with a black sword, a young woman and a small elf flying by their side. Have you seen them?"
The girl blinked. "A Black Swordsman? No... no one like that has passed here. No one comes this deep anymore."
She looked at Margot, then at the fading wound on her arm.
> "Especially not women. You’re brave, but it’s dangerous... the way beasts have changed lately, even with company, you’re not safe. Please... come to our cottage. My grandmother’s making breakfast. We have food, warmth... please. It’s the least I can do."
Margot and Adonis exchanged a look. Snow was gathering again under their boots, and their path had already been shaken off-course by the morning’s attack. Shelter was rare. Warmth even rarer.
Adonis nodded. "We’ll come."
The girl led the way as the three of them gathered fallen branches for firewood, trudging deeper through the snow. Margot’s whip trailed behind like a silent protector, just in case.
---
🏡 At the Cottage
A crooked cottage came into view beneath frostbitten pine boughs. Smoke curled gently from a chimney, and the old wooden door creaked open even before they knocked. An elderly woman stood there, silver hair tucked into a scarf, sharp eyes that softened only slightly when she saw her granddaughter wrapped in a stranger’s cloak.
> "Granny ," the girl said breathlessly. "These two... they saved me."
The old woman blinked, stepping back and gesturing them in. "Then come in, quickly. The fire’s hot, and the stew is thick."
Inside, the warmth struck like a blanket thrown over frozen bones. A pot steamed over the hearth, and herbs hung from the beams above like fragrant ghosts of spring. Bread and cheese lay waiting on a wooden table.
Margot helped the girl to sit while Adonis stood guard by the frosted window, eyes still sharp with suspicion.
> The old woman poured thick soup into wooden bowls. "You’ve come from far away, haven’t you? Looking for something. Or someone."
Margot accepted her bowl. "Yes. But this forest keeps its secrets."
The old woman smiled faintly. "Most things worth finding do. Eat. Rest. The path won’t clear itself until it’s ready."
And so they did.
Unaware of the red eyes still watching from somewhere beneath the trees.
---
Scene: The Cottage of Granny Vera
Snow whispered against the windows, soft flakes weaving through the still silence that followed the morning's chaos. Inside the cottage, a warm fire flickered and cast golden light upon the rustic wooden walls. Margot and Adonis sat near the hearth, savoring the rare comfort of a warm meal and dry clothes.
The girl they rescued, wrapped in Margot’s cloak, sipped broth quietly beside them. Her name, they learned, was Ilena. “Thank you, dear travelers… I—I was only collecting wood,” she said, voice trembling. “Me and my grandmother live alone, we sell herbs and mushrooms to the village. They call me ‘Little Red Riding Hood’—a joke, because of this old cape.”
Adonis offered a kind smile. “It saved your life today.”
From the corner of the room, the old woman stirred. Granny Vera, once known in her youth as Veronica, shuffled closer, leaning on a twisted cane carved with faded charms. Her cloudy eyes carried a weight far beyond years.
“What brings you this deep into cursed woods, strangers?” she asked.
Margot placed her cup down and met her gaze. “We’re searching for someone. A warrior, with a great sword. They call him the Black Swordsman. We hope to find him and join his battle against the dark rising.”
Granny Vera let out a long, tired sigh.
“Ahh… we don’t see many travelers anymore. Not since the hauntings began. This forest has been restless for generations. Let me tell you a tale.”
Ilena tensed beside them, her eyes dropping to her lap. Margot and Adonis leaned forward as Vera began.
“There was once a young man who loved a maiden. But her family disapproved. They said he was cursed. That he was the son of the Devil. When she was forbidden to see him, he tied a rope to the ancient birch tree near the river bend and took his life. They say his fingers bled even as he hung, and the snow beneath turned crimson. From that blood, a single red rose bloomed… out of season.”
She looked into the flames. “They say his ghost wanders still, each winter, seeking her. But it’s no longer love that drives him. He seduces women. Young, lost women. They follow him, and are never seen again.”
Silence fell. Then, Granny Vera whispered, “My sister… Violetta. She vanished when I was a child. They said she ran off with a mercenary. But I know better. She was taken.”
Margot’s jaw clenched. Adonis’s brows furrowed.
"Since then,” the old woman continued, “animals avoid this forest. The villagers… they are oddly calm, too calm. No warnings. No stress. As if they’ve forgotten how to fear.”
Ilena stirred nervously. “It’s why I go to the woods in the morning only.”
Granny Vera placed a hand over Margot’s. “Please. Delay your journey. Stay until spring. It’s the only way you’ll be safe.”
Margot looked to Adonis, her thoughts echoing in his. Was Vera right? This place had no birdsong. No beasts. Only shadows.
But Margot’s voice was resolute. “We can’t wait. If we do, the war moves without us. The one we seek may be our only hope.”
Adonis nodded. “And if we don’t stop Griffith’s forces or the Kushan invasion, no one will be safe—not here, not anywhere.”
Granny Vera shook her head sadly, rising slowly to fetch a small box from her shelf. “If you must go… take these.”
She handed them a pouch of holy salt, a flask of holy water, and a small charm woven from red threads.
"Evil spirits hate these things. Use them wisely. And if you must sleep in the woods, do not answer voices that sound too sweet.”
Margot bowed deeply. “Thank you, Granny Vera. You’ve shown us great kindness.”
Granny Vera smiled faintly, her eyes misty. “I only wish someone had done the same for my sister.”
As the trio stepped out into the snowy light—Margot, Adonis, and their loyal dog Blacky Jr.—they turned their gaze eastward.
Their next stop: the village pub.
But behind them, in the dim window of the cottage, Granny Vera watched with a worried heart, whispering to herself:
“Beware the blooming rose that grows in snow… for it feeds on blood and never dies.”
---
🌒 Chapter: “The Village of Vines and Veins”
The pub sat quietly in the dying light, its smoky windows aglow with amber warmth. From the outside, it looked like any other tavern — tucked into a forgotten village hemmed in by frostbitten woods.
Margot stepped inside, Adonis close behind, and Blacky Jr’s claws tapped warily on the floorboards.
Behind the bar stood an elderly couple — Arnold and Martha. Both wore serene, smiling faces. Too serene. Too still.
> “Welcome,” Arnold said warmly, polishing a mug. “Not often we get travelers. What brings you here?”
Margot kept her voice polite. “We’re looking for someone. A swordsman. Tall, black clothing. Travels with a small elf. Have you seen him?”
Arnold looked at Martha, who shook her head slowly.
> “That’s an odd tale,” she said, voice syrup-sweet. “We see mercenaries from time to time… but none like that. Perhaps you’re imagining things.”
Adonis glanced uneasily at Margot. Something felt off.
Arnold poured ale with exaggerated calm. Martha’s curious eyes didn’t leave them.
> “Are you this boy’s mother?” she asked, peering at Margot.
> “No.”
> “Siblings? Lovers?”
> “Neither.”
> “Strange… you don’t fit any category.”
Then the questions grew personal — invasive.
> “Are you married?”
“Do you have children?”
“What does your name mean, dear?”
Margot’s face tightened, but she answered coolly.
> “No. I’ve had no intimacy with a man. He’s my student. And my name means pearl… and daisy.”
At that, Martha’s face changed.
Her eyes widened. She stared.
Then leaned close to her husband and whispered urgently.
> “It’s her,” she hissed. “The one. The signs are right. It’s her.”
> “You’re sure?” Arnold murmured. “She seems… older than expected.”
> “Doesn’t matter. She fits.”
When they turned back around, the couple’s smiles had stretched wider — too wide.
> “Stay the night,” Martha offered. “We have a warm room upstairs. Just for you both.”
Margot felt it then.
A shift.
Her skin prickled. The air thickened. Her aura responded — an invisible pulse of awareness.
She looked again.
The couple’s veins… darkening. Greenish-black tendrils pulsed under their translucent skin.
Their eyes glinted — pupils now tinged in red.
They were wrong.
> “We’re grateful,” Margot said smoothly, fingers curling around Adonis’s wrist. “But we must keep moving. Time is short.”
They turned to leave.
> “Wait,” Arnold growled, voice deeper. “Don’t go. You don’t understand—”
> “You belong here,” Martha insisted, a pleading edge in her tone. “He’s been waiting—”
Margot opened the door.
> “Come, Adonis.”
They stepped into the cold dusk just as the village bells chimed — eerily off-beat. Behind them, the door slammed. A voice howled:
> “Don’t let her get away! SHE’S THE ONE!”
They ran.
Out of the village, past crooked homes and dead lanterns. Snow began to fall again — slow, heavy flakes.
They plunged into the forest.
Then they stopped.
Blacky Jr snarled.
The trees were full of eyes.
Red.
Glowing.
Watching.
A low growl sounded — then another. From the shadows, wolves emerged.
Emaciated. Mangy. Yet strangely… wrong. Each bore a blood-red pattern on its chest, thorn-like — unnatural.
They weren’t normal beasts. Not anymore.
> “We’re being herded,” Margot muttered. “Like prey.”
> “By what?” Adonis asked, blade drawn.
> “I don’t know. But something has twisted them.”
One wolf lunged — Blacky Jr intercepted, teeth clashing. Another circled behind. Margot lashed out with her whip — a snap like thunder.
> “We’re surrounded!” Adonis yelled. “What do we do!?”
The woods seemed to close in. The wolves advanced, growling — their breath fogging like smoke.
And the wind whispered through the trees:
> “Stay…”
“You belong…”
“He’s watching…”
Margot stood firm.
> “If they want us,” she said through gritted teeth, “they’ll have to bleed for it.”
And with a crack of her whip and Adonis’s blade flashing, the fight began beneath the snow-choked trees — no help coming, no way back.
Only the dark… and the hunt.
---
Scene: Wolves attack rescue
Snow crackled beneath their boots as Margot and Adonis bolted through the moonlit forest, breath sharp and ragged. Blacky Jr barked and darted at their heels, muscles rippling under his thick fur, ever-vigilant. Behind them, the red-eyed wolves chased in silence—a silence more terrifying than howls.
Margot snapped her whip again and again. Adonis swung his blade with growing desperation, slashing at the wolves that lunged too close. Each strike landed, and yet... the beasts barely staggered.
"They're not retreating!" Adonis gasped. "Even injured—they keep coming!"
"Something's wrong with them," Margot growled, blood from a shallow cut streaking her cheek. "They don't react to pain. Not even to Blacky Jr's bark. It's like they're being... controlled."
The shepherd dog flanked their rear, his growl relentless, fangs snapping at shadows. But the pack only swarmed tighter.
Margot turned, lashing her whip to pull one off Adonis. "We can't hold them all night!"
They turned and ran. Again.
Snow whipped into their faces. The woods blurred into a tunnel of black bark and silver branches. Wolves snapped at their ankles, their red eyes glowing like coals. No matter how far they ran, the chase didn't stop.
"Why don't they get tired?!" Adonis cried.
"They do," Margot gasped. "But their will isn't their own. Something's pushing them."
Suddenly, Blacky Jr skidded to a halt.
"Blacky!" Margot shouted.
The dog turned back, growling ferociously, standing firm. His black white fur bristled as he bared his teeth, forming a shield between the wolves and his people.
"No! Blacky, come!" Margot cried, her voice breaking.
But the dog didn't move.
Adonis seized her hand. "Look! A church—up ahead!"
Through the tangle of trees, a dark silhouette of an old chapel stood in the snow, half-buried in frost. A flickering candle glowed faintly inside.
"He'll hold them off," Adonis insisted. "We have to go. Now!"
Margot hesitated, eyes burning, body frozen with horror. But then she nodded, trembling, and let herself be pulled away.
Behind them, Blacky Jr let out a war cry of a bark and lunged.
The wolves attacked.
Teeth tore into fur. Blacky Jr twisted, bit, yelped. Blood sprayed on white snow. Still, the dog held his ground, biting and clawing, his body battered and limping but never yielding.
Then—
A blur sliced the night.
A shadow emerged, tall and silent, moving with impossible speed. Two curved blades gleamed in the starlight. The first wolf lunged—was cut in half before it hit the ground. Another tried to flee—was struck down mid-leap.
The figure—draped in black, wearing a Bakiraka assassin mask—danced through the wolves like a wind of death. Each strike was fatal. Each motion precise.
The snow turned red.
As silence returned, the masked assassin stood still.
He approached Blacky Jr, who whimpered weakly on the ground.
Kneeling, the man placed fingers to the dog’s neck.
A pulse.
Alive.
He let out a sigh of relief.
"Stubborn creature," he murmured.
He stood. He wasn’t a healer. But leaving the dog would mean betraying the ones he was told to watch.
"Tch. Fine."
Lifting the limp but breathing dog gently, the assassin turned toward the woods.
He'd hide Blacky Jr, in a safe den. Then track the boy and the woman.
The old master's orders were clear.
Protect them. At any cost.
---
🌒 Scene: The Old Church
The frost-laced air clung to Margot and Adonis as they stumbled toward the dim glow of the church. Their breaths came in ragged clouds, feet numb from hours of flight through cursed forests. Behind them, howls still echoed.
The church loomed like a sentinel carved from forgotten stone, one lone candle flickering behind the dust-caked windowpane. They stood at the threshold, hesitated, then knocked.
Once.
Twice.
No answer. The light didn’t flicker. All was still.
Thrice.
Then — footsteps. Calm, measured, almost too soft for the creaking wood.
Margot gripped Adonis’s arm instinctively. The door creaked open.
A young man stood before them — a priest, or so he appeared. Robes of soft gray, candle in hand, red hair flowing neatly, pale skin that almost shimmered in the candlelight, and closed eyes that curved like those of a sleeping fox.
“Good evening, travelers,” he said, voice as smooth as silk warmed by fire. “I feel distress in your souls. Do you need help?”
Adonis stepped forward, trying to sound calm despite the weariness in his voice. “We’ve been chased by wolves... got lost. We saw the light 🕯️ in your church. We’re sorry for disturbing you, brother?”
The priest raised a hand gently, palm open in a gesture of welcome.
“No need for official manners, dear travelers. You are tired. Scared. Lost. Please... come in. This night is not kind.”
Margot met his gaze briefly — or tried to. The priest’s eyes never opened. But just for a breath, she caught something — a subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth. A glint of something malicious. And then... it was gone.
She said nothing.
Adonis glanced at her, then back at the priest, and gave a tired nod. “Thank you.”
They stepped inside.
The priest looked left. Then right. He closed the door with a soft click.
---
🌲 Scene: The Cottage – Revelation
Elsewhere, the assassin emerged from the snow-cloaked woods, cradling the wounded form of Blacky Jr. His breath was calm, precise. Every step calculated. The dog whimpered — alive, but barely.
Ahead, the cottage of Granny Vera.
He remembered this place. The old woman. Her granddaughter. The moment when Margot and Adonis took shelter. But now...
Silence.
Darkness.
He called out, masking his voice with weariness: “I’m a traveler. My wounded companion needs care. Attacked by wolves. Requesting food and rest... please.”
No answer.
The assassin’s instinct took over. This was a trap — or worse. He quickly tucked Blacky Jr into a hollow beneath the snowbank, layering him in spare cloth and moss for warmth. Then, he vanished — crawling through a crack in the wooden floor with silent agility.
Inside the cottage, the air reeked.
Old blood. Burnt herbs. Perfumed rot.
From the shadows, red eyes blinked.
The attack came swift. A humanoid figure — thin, sinewy, green-veined like a twisted vine — lunged at him from behind. Her voice screeched like thorns scraping glass.
He twisted midair, grabbed its throat, snapped the spine with practiced cruelty.
It fell. Black-green blood splashed across the floorboards.
Moonlight bathed the corpse. Her face shifted back into something grotesquely familiar.
Granny Vera.
The assassin knelt beside her. Silent. Unflinching.
He knew now.
This place wasn’t just infested. It was claimed.
And it hadn’t stopped with her.
In a back room, he found the remnants of a child’s bed. The granddaughter — gone. A single red rose bloomed on the pillow. Perfect. Unnatural.
His jaw tensed beneath the Bakiraka mask.
“Pseudo-apostles,” he muttered. “This territory’s poisoned.”
No time to grieve. He built a fire. Cremated the body. Scattered blessed powder across the room. Whispered old chants from his clan.
Then, he gathered herbs, binding cloth, and rare salves he carried in hidden vials. Blacky Jr stirred faintly. The bleeding slowed.
The assassin crouched beside him.
“You held them off,” he murmured. “You bought time. Now I’ll do the same.”
He lifted the dog once more, and with ghostlike grace, vanished into the night — to track Margot and Adonis. Before the forest, or worse, claimed them too.
---
Inside the candlelit guest chamber of the lonely old church, warmth seeped through Margot’s bones. The scent of pinewood smoke, roasted herbs, and old incense clung to the air. Soft cushions were placed around the hearth as if arranged moments before their arrival. A modest table held two steaming bowls of porridge soup with wild vegetables and forest mushrooms — surprisingly rich for such an isolated place.
The red-haired young priest, still holding a long beeswax candle, had a delicate, polite aura. His pale skin gleamed like snow under flame. Though his eyes remained gently shut — as if in permanent reverence — he moved with careful awareness.
“Please, rest,” the priest said kindly, his voice smooth like silk brushed over stone. “This night bites with a cruel wind, and the forest does not forgive the weary. Eat. Warm yourselves.”
Margot and Adonis exchanged a cautious glance, but exhaustion took precedence. They sat, letting the fire’s glow lick their cheeks. Margot took the bowl in both hands and slowly sipped, feeling the heat spread through her chest. Adonis devoured his in silence.
Margot, now feeling human again, glanced toward their quiet host.
“Would you join us, Brother?” she asked gently.
The young priest gave a soft chuckle and offered a small bow of his head. “I already had my meal an hour ago, my lady. But thank you kindly for your generosity.”
After the last spoonful, Adonis slouched by the hearth while Margot leaned against a cushion, her hands warming near the flames.
“We’re grateful,” she said, her voice more relaxed now. “Without you, we may have frozen or fallen prey to beasts.”
The priest smiled.
“You’re most welcome,” he said with a low nod. “It is rare to see travelers at this hour, and rarer still to offer kindness where suspicion blooms. Permit me to introduce myself properly.”
He placed the candle on a silver plate near the fire, then stood tall.
“My name is Brother Virgilius,” he said, clasping his hands gently at his waist. “Servant of this chapel and keeper of its sacred flame. May your burdens lighten under this roof.”
Adonis rose slightly from his seat. “Adonis,” he said, “son of a deceased mercenary and student under my teacher and protector—Lady Margot.”
Margot offered a quiet nod. “A pleasure.”
Brother Virgilius’s smile widened as he stepped forward, offering a formal bow. “An honor to receive both scholar and student under this roof. A rare union indeed: youth guided by wisdom. Most refreshing in these chaotic times.”
He turned briefly toward Margot, the corner of his mouth quirking in what may have been a wink. Or a twitch. Margot wasn’t sure.
“You wear many roles well, Lady Margot,” he said. “A teacher, a protector... perhaps more?”
Margot stiffened slightly, then offered a cool smile. “That depends on how much one assumes about strangers.”
Virgilius laughed softly, waving a hand as if brushing the moment aside. “A jest, nothing more. Forgive me.”
Adonis, clearly wanting to shift the mood, asked, “This church... it’s so quiet. Where are the others? Monks? Sisters?”
Virgilius returned to his seat near the fire and folded his hands. “They departed a month ago for a sacred pilgrimage. It was meant to last three weeks... but the snow came early this year. I have remained to watch over these old stones until their return.”
Adonis nodded slowly, then asked, “And what is this place, truly?”
Virgilius tilted his head thoughtfully.
“This chapel,” he said in a low, melodic tone, “was built centuries ago upon older foundations. Before it belonged to the Holy Church, it was a site of worship to something... older. Trees once grew here in circles. Stones sang in the wind. Some say it’s still a place where spirits remember what it means to speak.”
His words, like poetry, fell over them like gentle snowfall. Margot felt her eyelids growing heavy — not from his words, but the way he spoke them. Velvet and rhythm, lulling, hypnotic.
She didn’t realize her head had dipped until a firm hand touched her shoulder.
“Margot,” Adonis whispered.
She blinked, cheeks flushing. “Oh. I’m sorry... fatigue. The stress.”
Brother Virgilius gave a soft laugh. “Think nothing of it. You’ve traveled far. You’ve seen horrors. Sleep is not weakness — it is mercy.”
He stood again, brushing invisible dust from his robe. “Let me brew you something. Herbal tea. From the chapel garden. It soothes the heart and hushes nightmares.”
Margot blinked slowly, still fighting the weight on her lashes.
“That... would be kind. Thank you.”
Virgilius nodded, turned toward the back hallway.
But once alone, his serene smile began to change.
He moved down a dark stone corridor into the preparation chamber behind the altar. No candles here — only the faint blue shimmer of moonlight filtering through stained glass.
And here... in the shadow... Brother Virgilius changed.
His smile twisted, stretching too far, too wide. His closed foxlike eyes slowly opened — and what glowed beneath the lids was not human. Gold, slitted, like a serpent woken from divine slumber.
His skin — once flawless — pulsed faintly as something beneath it writhed, green-veined like parasitic vines crawling just below the surface.
“I offered warmth. I offered peace. And yet they still fight it,” he whispered to no one, his voice darker now, almost reverent.
Then his gaze turned toward the corridor where Margot and Adonis rested by the fire.
“It matters not. They are inside. The seed is sown.”
His grin returned as he began to steep the herbs.
---
The wind outside howled like a wounded beast as the fire inside crackled softly, casting flickering gold onto the stone walls of the chapel guest room. Shadows danced with gentle menace across the floor. Margot sat close to the hearth, her eyes glassy and distant, hands clasped around her knees for warmth and comfort.
Adonis was quiet beside her, chin resting on his palm, until Margot finally spoke.
“Adonis,” she said slowly, her voice low and thoughtful. “Do you remember... that bird monster? The one with the face of a woman who tried to assault the girl... Ilena?”
Adonis blinked, lifting his head slightly. “Yes... the harpy-like thing,” he muttered, voice cautious. “Why do you ask now?”
Margot didn’t answer at first. Her gaze fixed on the flames dancing before her, as if trying to pull images from their flickers.
“That wasn’t the first time I saw something like that,” she murmured. “Seven years ago... in Midland. Back when I was still the Royal Governess.”
Adonis straightened. “You mean when you worked for my cousin, Princess Charlotte, right?”
Margot nodded, her voice soft. “She was thirteen. A stormy night, much like this one. Lightning shook the castle walls. I remember... I was reading in my chamber when I heard her scream.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, recalling the memory with painful clarity.
“I ran to her bedchamber — first one to arrive. When I pushed the door open, the curtains were thrashing in the wind. She was curled under her blankets, pale, trembling. And there... at the tall stained-glass window... I saw it.”
Adonis listened intently, brows furrowing.
“She looked like a woman — at first,” Margot continued. “But taller than me, much taller. Wings outstretched like an eagle... her legs shaped like a rooster’s, claws clinging to the edge of the windowsill. Her feathers glistened, soaked by the rain. But her eyes, Adonis... blank yellow. No pupils. Just void.”
Margot’s voice cracked a little. “She looked first at Charlotte... then straight at me. Then lightning flashed — and in a blink, she was gone. Gone as if she had never been there.”
Adonis’s mouth opened slightly, unsure of what to say.
Margot pulled something out from a small leather pouch beneath her cloak. It was old and fragile — a feather. Pale blue, tipped in black. “This... was the only thing left on the windowsill.”
Adonis’s eyes widened.
“I’ve kept it ever since. I couldn’t shake the feeling that this creature... it brings bad omens. It only preys on young girls and women — childless, unmarried, vulnerable. Age doesn’t matter. Only innocence... or despair.”
She tucked the feather back in silence.
Adonis frowned, thinking aloud. “You’re saying this... thing we saw — or something like it — has been hunting for years? For victims?”
Margot nodded solemnly.
“And it only comes when misfortune is near,” she whispered. “When something terrible is about to happen.”
Adonis’s hand clenched the armrest of the chair. “If it’s one of them... an Apostle like Father Aubert warned us about... then maybe the church protects us. Holy ground should repel those things, right?”
Margot looked over at him, but her eyes remained uncertain.
“I thought it would,” she said. “But this place... something is off. The way Brother Virgilius keeps watching me. Not just as a host... as if he’s studying me.”
Adonis nodded quietly. He had noticed too — the way Virgilius’s head tilted whenever Margot moved, the way his polite smile lingered too long when he addressed her.
He exhaled slowly and looked down at his feet, chewing his lip.
Margot didn’t know how many times in her life strange men had projected their desires or intentions onto her without asking what she wanted. But Adonis knew. He saw it. He felt it in the way her body stiffened when someone’s gaze lingered too long. He had been raised by her, taught by her, protected by her — and yet tonight, he felt powerless to shield her from this invisible threat that coiled tighter around them by the hour.
He wanted to say something then — something deeply hidden. His feelings. His fears. The fact that no matter how brave he pretended to be, he feared losing her more than anything.
But just then...
The door creaked open.
They both turned at once. In came Brother Virgilius, now wearing a long ceremonial stole over his dark robes, and in his hands — two finely crafted porcelain cups filled with steaming herbal tea.
“My apologies for the delay,” he said smoothly, stepping forward with his ever-charming smile. “The water took longer to boil than I thought. But it’s worth it. These herbs only bloom in winter... and only at night.”
He handed the first cup to Margot, with a faint bow, then the second to Adonis.
“Chamomile, blue sage, and angel leaf,” he explained. “To calm the nerves and ease troubled thoughts.”
Margot accepted the cup slowly, her fingers brushing the smooth ceramic. She smiled politely — but something inside her remained guarded.
“Thank you,” she said.
Adonis raised the cup to his nose and sniffed. The aroma was soothing. Almost too soothing. He lowered it but didn’t drink.
“Will you join us?” Margot asked, voice steady.
Brother Virgilius gave a half-laugh and waved a hand. “No, no. I’ve already had mine — a whole hour ago. I wouldn’t want to overindulge.”
He took a seat across from them on a low stool, folding his hands calmly in his lap. His posture was perfect, unmoving.
The fire popped again, casting sharp light across his face.
Margot lifted the cup, but did not drink.
Instead, she stared at him — and for a moment, she caught something... just for a breath.
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. And even if it had — those eyes were still shut.
Why?
---
The hearth crackled gently, its warmth a soft balm against the chilling winds clawing at the stained-glass windows. Shadows stretched and danced across the modest chamber of the old church, as if listening.
Margot, seated close to the fire, held the steaming cup of herbal tea in her hands. The scent was earthy, calming—almost too calming. Her instincts flared, warning her not to drink. Yet, with Brother Virgilius seated across from them, eyes eternally closed and smile serene, she couldn’t risk raising suspicion.
She brought the cup to her lips and took the smallest sip—barely enough to wet her tongue. The warmth was welcome, but she remained on guard.
As the priest shifted in his seat, Margot’s eyes wandered again over him. Young, perhaps in his mid-twenties. Dressed in the dark robes of a priest, but the robes clung to his frame too elegantly. His skin pale and smooth as untouched porcelain. That red hair—flowing like silken threads of blood, framing a face almost too flawless to be human.
There was something... seductive in the way he sat, poised, collected. His closed eyes and sly smile gave him a fox-like grace. An incubus in holy robes... she thought uneasily.
She lingered on his features a moment too long.
“Is there something on my face, my lady?” Virgilius asked suddenly, his tone smooth, teasing. The corner of his lips curved into a deeper smile. “You’ve been staring for quite a while.”
Margot stiffened and coughed into her tea, startled. The warm liquid burned her throat.
“Easy now,” Virgilius said, rising gently and offering a goblet of water. “Drink slowly, no rush.”
Margot took it with a curt nod, her cheeks flushed—partly from embarrassment, partly from something more visceral she couldn’t name.
Once she composed herself, Virgilius returned to his seat with elegant precision. His posture never faltered, and that smile never faded.
“I must admit,” he began, “I am curious... what brings such refined travellers through this remote region in the heart of winter, and at night no less? Especially when wolves roam and shadows grow long.”
Adonis glanced at Margot, then turned to answer.
“We’re searching for someone. A swordsman. He wears black, carries a massive blade. Have you heard of him?”
Virgilius tilted his head, as if contemplating.
“The Black Swordsman...” he mused, fingers brushing back a strand of crimson hair. “Ah yes, whispers of a wandering menace. But no, I’ve never had the... misfortune of meeting him.”
“Misfortune?” Adonis asked, narrowing his eyes. “Why call it that?”
The priest gave a small laugh. “Oh, simply a turn of phrase, nothing more. But may I ask—why is he so important to you?”
Adonis’s gaze hardened. “Because he’s the only one who can stop him... the so-called saviour. The Falcon of Light.”
The room grew cold.
The fire sputtered. Somewhere, distantly, a bell tolled.
Virgilius’s expression didn’t shift—at first. But a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. “That... is quite a statement,” he said slowly. “Why would you think of the Falcon as a threat?”
Margot leaned forward, curiosity piqued, though weariness began tugging at her thoughts.
Adonis spoke with growing intensity. “Because we’ve read the old scriptures. The ones that speak of revelations... and false gods.”
He recited:
“When the sun dies five times, a red lake will appear to the west of the city with a name both new and old... It is proof that the fifth angel shall alight. The angel is the Falcon of Darkness. The master of the sinful black sheep, the king of the blind white sheep. He who shall call upon the world an age of darkness.”
A pause fell.
Then Virgilius chuckled softly, a hand resting over his heart. “Ah... the Heretic Texts,” he whispered. “So few dare utter them aloud these days. Dangerous words, young man. You speak of deep heresy.”
“But is it true?” Adonis pressed.
Virgilius’s smile thinned.
“Perhaps truth is just a matter of belief,” he replied. “To some, the Falcon is the saviour promised. To others...” he gestured vaguely, “...a shadow in feathers.”
Neither Margot nor Adonis answered. The fire hissed again.
Margot felt the warmth in her chest slowly fading, replaced with a heavy weight. Her eyelids began to droop. She blinked several times, struggling to stay alert.
Strange... why now?
Her head nodded forward slightly, and a yawn escaped her lips.
Adonis, too, seemed dazed. His arms rested slackly over the armrest. His breathing slowed.
Virgilius remained seated, hands folded calmly.
Margot forced herself to lift her eyes—just once—to glance at the priest.
Still smiling.
Still watching.
Then everything went dark.
---
As the firelight flickered, Virgilius rose silently from his seat. His every movement smooth, almost predatory. He walked to the center of the room and observed his sleeping guests.
Their tea cups rested untouched by the fire, barely sipped. Yet the herbs were potent. Enough to lull even the strongest mind.
He smiled wider now, his closed eyelids fluttering—then opening slowly.
Behind them were not human eyes.
They were sharp, slitted, amber-red like molten gold. The gaze of something ancient. Something that hunts in dreams.
Virgilius exhaled softly, almost lovingly.
“Sleep well,” he whispered, fingers brushing the air above Margot’s cheek, not touching—just sensing. “Dream deeply, little ones.”
Then, as if to himself, he began to hum a haunting lullaby, a melody older than scripture, older than the church, carried from times when gods were monsters and monsters were adored.
The room grew colder.
The fire dimmed.
And the trap was now fully set.
---
🕯️ "Virgilius’s Lullaby of Ash and Thorn"
Softly sung with a slow, minor melody — haunting, sacred and ominous.
> Hush now, child, the night has come,
The stars are silent, the winds grow numb.
Thorn and ash in cradle lie,
No one weeps, no angels cry.
Sleep beneath the chapel stone,
The priest shall guard, but not alone.
Eyes may close, but sins still burn,
In dreams of blood you shall return.
Drift through shadow, dark and deep,
Forget your breath, forget to weep.
The falcon waits where roses die,
He sings beneath a holy lie.
So hush now, child, and do not fear,
The end is close, the truth is near.
Rest in arms of dusk and doom,
The thorned bloom guards your tomb...
End of chapter 1 "Where Roses Never Wither"