The air was heavy with rust and salt.
She lay on the cold cellar floor, her eyes half-open, watching the slow drip from a leaky pipe. It hit the stone in a steady, rhythmic pattern. A heartbeat. A metronome for something that had long since passed.
She hadn’t slept in days—or maybe she had. Time felt like it had lost its way.
A voice inside her murmured, You’ve been here before.
And then she slipped beneath the surface.
---
She was twelve. Or maybe even younger. The light was pale as old parchment, brittle and silent.
Waves crashed somewhere far off. The sand beneath her feet was black and coarse, sparkling with what could have been ash. She wore a blue cotton dress, the hem soaked through.
There was a woman behind her, faceless and tall. Not a mother. Not quite a stranger either. Her presence felt like something ancient cloaked in concern.
“Go in,” the woman urged. “It’s time.”
Adrianna shook her head. “It’s too cold.”
But her feet were already moving. The sea tugged at her ankles like fingers. She waded in, the water rising quickly—past her knees, her waist, her shoulders.
Then hands. Not hers. Not the woman’s. Dozens of unseen hands beneath the surface, grabbing, pulling, pressing down.The salt stung her throat as she screamed. She reached up only to find no one there.
The sky turned black. The sea filled her lungs.
And just as the world began to fade—
She was lifted.
The faceless woman had returned, pulling her from the surf with an impossible strength. Her eyes burned like moons, and her voice echoed from every direction.
“Not yet. You are not for the sea.”
“You are spoken for.”
“You belong to him.”
---
Adrianna jolted awake with a gasp, coughing up air like it was water. The cellar was dark again. Still. She clutched her ribs and pulled herself upright, her hand trembling.
Someone was watching.
She turned her head slowly—and there she was.
The priestess.
She stood by the cellar door, barefoot, her red robe pooling like blood. She held nothing. Said nothing.
Adrianna blinked, her voice barely a whisper. “How long have you been there?”
“Long enough,” Reverence replied, her tone as calm as a still lake. “You called out in your sleep. Did the tide rise again?”
Adrianna stayed silent.
The priestess moved closer, crouching beside her, reaching out not with malice, but with an unexpected, nurturing warmth. She gently tucked a damp strand of hair behind Adrianna’s ear.
“You’ve always battled the sea. You came into this world with lungs when you should’ve had gills.”
“I don’t want your riddles,” Adrianna shot back. “I want out— I want to go home.”
“You don’t really want out,” Reverence murmured, leaning in a bit more. “What you truly want is to matter. You want to be chosen.”
She pressed a soft kiss to Adrianna’s forehead.
It felt like fire.
“You are,” she continued. “You always have been. From the moment the waves cast you ashore and he called you mine.”
Adrianna flinched, but Reverence just smiled gently.
“The moon is almost ready. You should get some rest. You’ll need your strength when the salt comes back.”
With that, she slipped away, the door closing softly behind her, like a gentle sigh.
Left alone in the dark, Adrianna gazed up at the ceiling. Something flickered just above the stone. A trick of light, or perhaps… something ancient.
She didn’t cry.
She didn’t pray.
She simply whispered to herself
“Not yet. Not yet. Not yet.”
The ritual kicked off before anyone even stirred.It all began with a shift in the atmosphere.The heavy scent of burning myrrh wafted into the cellar, thick and suffocating. Adrianna opened her eyes, instantly recognizing it. Her head spun, and the walls felt like they were stretching away, as if the room had grown overnight.Alessandro was already awake, pacing back and forth. He hadn’t slept a wink. His skin appeared pale, and his eyes were darker than usual.“I think it has started,” he said.Adrianna nodded in agreement. “I feel it too.”There was a strange hum in the walls, not quite a sound but more like a pressure. It felt as if the house was eavesdropping.Upstairs, the estate had taken on a different look.The chandeliers dripped wax like blood. Every portrait was draped in black silk. The grand dining hall, once opulent, had been stripped bare and transformed into a sanctum. The priestess glided through it barefoot, her steps silent on the marble floor.Giovanni stood in th
Adrianna had been silent for hours, curled up in the corner of her cell, the flickering candlelight casting shadows across her face. Across the room, Alessandro leaned against the wall, his gaze fixed on the floor, as if he could somehow erase the harsh reality with his stillness. Half siblings. Just the thought of it made something inside her twist and rot.Her mind raced in tight, burning loops around everything he had said and what he hadn’t. Every glance they had exchanged, every hushed conversation, every fleeting touch now felt tainted by this shocking truth. But it wasn’t just the revelation itself; it was the intent behind it. Giovanni had allowed them to feel something real, nurtured it, and then tore it apart.Finally, Adrianna broke the heavy silence. "You knew?"Alessandro didn’t lift his eyes. "No."She stood up, fists clenched tight. "You knew.""I didn’t," he insisted, his voice low and trembling. "I sensed something was off. But not this."She let out a bitter laugh. "
Alessandro woke up before the guards switched shifts. He found himself back in his quarters, though sleep had only come in bits and pieces. Adrianna’s voice echoed in his mind—sharp, soft, and defiant. The memory of her hand brushing against his, even if just for a moment, haunted him like nothing else ever had. He dressed quickly, opting for a black top, gloves, and a cloak of silence instead of a suit. If he was going to help her escape, he had to tread carefully. Every hallway had eyes, and every shadow belonged to his father. He carried two things with him,a key and a lie he hadn’t yet admitted to himself.Adrianna hadn’t slept at all. The room lacked a clock, but her body kept track of the hours anyway; each one felt like an eternity. She replayed Alessandro’s words in her mind. You’re the last offering. She didn’t want to accept it, but something deep within her already did. Still, when he showed up that morning, she stood tall, her back straight and chin held high.“You’re earl
The air was heavy with rust and salt.She lay on the cold cellar floor, her eyes half-open, watching the slow drip from a leaky pipe. It hit the stone in a steady, rhythmic pattern. A heartbeat. A metronome for something that had long since passed.She hadn’t slept in days—or maybe she had. Time felt like it had lost its way.A voice inside her murmured, You’ve been here before.And then she slipped beneath the surface.---She was twelve. Or maybe even younger. The light was pale as old parchment, brittle and silent.Waves crashed somewhere far off. The sand beneath her feet was black and coarse, sparkling with what could have been ash. She wore a blue cotton dress, the hem soaked through.There was a woman behind her, faceless and tall. Not a mother. Not quite a stranger either. Her presence felt like something ancient cloaked in concern.“Go in,” the woman urged. “It’s time.”Adrianna shook her head. “It’s too cold.”But her feet were already moving. The sea tugged at her ankles li
The Moretti estate was a labyrinth of secrets, buried deep like rot within a corpse. Alessandro had spent his entire life there, yet he still hadn’t uncovered all its hidden doors.But he certainly knew about the ones that were locked, carefully guarded.As the clock struck midnight, he slipped through the east wing. The house was eerily silent, save for the occasional creak of settling stone or the whisper of the wind against the stained glass. This wing had once been a welcoming space for guests, but now it served as Giovanni’s personal archive—a museum of history, stories, and, more recently, blood.Alessandro approached the door to the records room. It boasted a brass lock and was crafted from heavy wood. A small camera perched above the frame, watching. He hesitated for a moment, then reached into his coat and pulled out the key.His father was unaware he had it. Or perhaps he wasn’t. With Giovanni, permission was often a silent agreement, always with strings attached.The door c
Adrianna cherished her quiet mornings. She loved the taste of dark coffee, the sight of a pale sky, and the feel of slightly ajar windows letting in the crisp air. Below her penthouse, Milan was alive with energy—cars honked, vendors called out, and people hurried past—but she remained above it all, cocooned in her solitude and silence.She had crafted a life that was entirely her own, free from family ties and unburdened by her past. There was no drama—just her art, her studio, and a handful of carefully constructed lies that kept her history at a distance.This morning should have felt just like any other.But the birds were eerily quiet.At first, she didn’t pay it any mind. She was too engrossed in gliding her fingers over a blank canvas, envisioning a new triptych. Her last series had done well—abstract pieces in deep crimson that were just tortured enough to catch the eye of collectors without crossing into grotesque territory.Her phone buzzed on the counter.An unfamiliar numb