Chapter 53: Gentle Danger

Darkness enveloped her completely.

Camela's scream echoed in her head, yet no sound escaped her lips. She felt the silk threads pulling around her arms, chest, and throat—gentle like a lover’s caress but lethal as a noose.

Her lungs ached for air. She kicked out, but the atmosphere felt heavy and thick, like she was moving through water.

A flash of gold pierced through the darkness. It was Vincent’s fire.

“Camela!” His voice boomed.

She turned her head toward the sound, and she saw a streak of flame slice through the dark. His hand reached out, fingers stretching toward her.

Her chest heaved with effort as she shouted, “Vincent!”

The threads tightened their grip, pulling her further into the void.

Vincent's fire blazed brighter, cutting through the gloom as he fought his way to her; every step felt like he was wading through thick mud.

“Don’t let go,” he growled, straining against the pressure on his face that twisted with fury and determination in his blazing golden eyes.

Camela struggled against the silken bonds. “I…I can’t…” she responded through the chaos.

“Yes, you can.” His voice shook with authority but beneath it was plain desperation. “Don’t listen to her.”

The atmosphere shifted suddenly.

A whisper slithered through the dark—smooth and familiar.

The First Bride spoke. “You can’t fight silk, Camela. It’s not a chain; it’s a promise.”

Camela gasped as the threads tightened around her ribs, squeezing her breath away. She writhed in anguish as tears filled her eyes.

“No! I don’t want this!” she screamed.

The whisper continued gently and soothingly. “Then stop fighting. Allow it to hold you. Let it love you.”

Vincent snarled fiercely, his flames grew more intense as he yelled, “Get out of her head!”

His flame lashed at the silk, burning it away for a moment, and causing Camela to jerk forward closer to him. With trembling hands, she reached out; their fingertips brushed against each other.

But then the silk reformed faster and stronger, wrapping around her wrist and pulling her back forcefully.

“NO!” Vincent shouted in despair.

The golden flames surrounding him erupted into a storm. Heat scorched the darkness, and his body shone like a blazing sun. Every muscle quivered as he fought his way through the sticky void.

“Let her go!”

The threads hissed in response. The First Bride’s laughter echoed through the darkness. “Do you really think fire scares silk? Fire fades away, but the silk remains.”

The silk twisted like snakes, creating tighter straps.

Camela's breath came in sharp gasps, as she tried to keep her gaze on Vincent, whose face was a guiding light.

“Don’t leave me…” she cried out.

“I’m here!” He clenched his jaw, and his eyes burned even brighter. “I’ll always be here!”

The threads struck at him, wrapping around his arms and throat. He choked and stumbled, causing his flames to flicker for a moment.

Camela screamed, “Vincent!”

But even as the silk coiled around him, he crushed it in his fists, his flames flaring higher and turning the strands to ash.

The void shook. The First Bride hissed in frustration. “You’re so stubborn…fox”

Vincent gritted his teeth. “Damn right…you bet I am.”

He lunged forward again, slamming his hand into Camela’s and finally grasping her wrist.

Her chest broke with relief as tears streamed down her face. “You…”

“I’ve got you,” he whispered.

But the silk changed.

Instead of fighting him, it became soft and gentle. The threads loosened, gliding over Camela’s skin like warm fingers. They stopped pulling her aggressively and began to caress, stroke, and soothe her.

Camela shivered, her breath hitching. It felt safe and comforting, almost sweet.

The First Bride's voice whispered in her ear, “See? It doesn’t hurt. It never wanted to hurt you. Just wear it. Feel how soft it is?”

The threads flowed over her neck, weaving into her hair like a veil.

Vincent growled, “Don’t listen to it. It's poison.”

Camela’s lips quivered as she replied, “It…feels real.”

“It’s a lie,” Vincent snapped, pulling harder as his fire flared against her skin but not burning her. “She wants you to trust her. And once you do…you’re lost.”

The threads continued caressing her skin as they brushed against her cheek, wiping away her tears.

“Lost?” The First Bride laughed softly. “No. She’ll be mine. That isn’t lost; that’s forever.”

Camela’s chest rose and fell rapidly. For just a moment, she didn’t resist; the silk felt too soft and too gentle.

Vincent's grip tightened, his fire sparkling against her skin—not burning her but revealing the truth within.

“Camela. Look at me,” he said.

Her eyes opened slightly; his gaze pierced through everything—intense and unwavering.

“Do you want to be her forever?” he asked.

Her throat tightened as she replied, “No.”

“Then fight,” he urged her.

The threads tightened around her, softly murmuring like lullabies:

“You’re exhausted. Aren’t you tired? He’ll only hurt you. Let the silk carry you. Let it embrace you. No more suffering.”

Camela whimpered, her hands trembling and her body ached from fighting back.

“I…I want to rest,” she muttered.

Vincent felt his heart break, but he spoke sharply, cutting through the gentle whispers. “What you truly want is freedom, not chains disguised as comfort.”

Camela lowered her head, tears streaming down her cheeks as she responded. “I’m not sure if I’m strong enough.”

“You are,” he said, his voice soft yet filled with passion and care. “You already are. I’ve watched you fight even when you had nothing left to give. This isn’t stronger than you think; it just feels gentle so you'll surrender.”

The silk quivered at his words.

The First Bride’s voice grew more intense. “Don’t listen to him! He will abandon you, Camela. Fire always dies.”

Camela gasped for breath, feeling defeated and broken, she whispered. “But he came for me time and time again.”

Vincent tightened his grip, pulling her closer and burning the threads away. “That’s right. I’d set the whole world ablaze if it means you stay mine.”

The silk shrieked as it tightened one last time and choked her breath—before bursting apart in a cloud of smoke.

Camela fell forward into his embrace and they both landed with a thud.

The darkness split open.

When Camela opened her eyes, they were no longer enveloped in blackness.

A mansion loomed around them—its dark walls towered high, and its windows were tightly shut. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, with every door locked from the inside. The air felt heavy and watchful, as if the walls were alive.

Camela clutched Vincent’s sleeve, her voice trembling. “What is this place?” she asked.

He squinted his eyes as he surveyed the corridor. “A prison. Her prison,” he replied.

The First Bride’s voice echoed softly through the mansion. “There are no locks inside, bride. Just doors you’ll never be able to open.”

Camela's heart raced as every hallway appeared identical, each shadow shifting ominously. The mansion didn’t feel like stone—it was more like silk, with red threads running through the walls that pulsed gently like blood.

Vincent tightened his grip on her arm. “Stay close,” he said.

She nodded, swallowing hard. “What if…what if we can’t find a way out?” she asked.

His jaw tightened in determination as he replied, “Then I’ll tear this place apart.”

The mansion groaned at his words, almost as if offended by them. Doors creaked open further down the hall, and whispers filled the air.

They moved slowly together, each step echoing loudly through the mansion.

The first door swung open on its own, with light spilling out. Inside—Camela gasped in surprise.

It was her childhood bedroom, complete with the same window, pale curtains, and small desk. Everything appeared untouched.

Her voice trembled as she said, “This is…this is my room.” The silk crown on her head pulsed softly.

Vincent’s fire growled quietly beside her as he warned. “Don’t go in there. It’s a trick.”

But the room seemed so safe and inviting.

A whisper from the First Bride lingered nearby. “Not a trick. But a gift. A memory. Don’t you want to rest here, bride? Don’t you want to close your eyes in a bed that knows your name?”

Camela’s knees wobbled as she gazed at the bed, her hand slipping from Vincent’s sleeve.

Vincent gripped her wrist tightly, with sparks flying from his fire. “Camela. Look at me,” he whispered.

She bit her lip, tears welling in her eyes. “It feels like home,” she said.

“It isn’t,” he responded fiercely, his voice breaking slightly. “Home is with me, Camela.”

The room flickered and began to dissolve like smoke while the mansion groaned louder around them.

Camela gasped and leaned back against him on his chest. “It’s showing me everything I desire.”

“That’s how it traps you,” Vincent warned sharply. “Gentle danger is still danger.”

Her lips quivered with worry as she asked, “What if I take a wrong step?”

“Then I’ll pull you back every time,” he reassured her.

The ground shook beneath them suddenly. From the end of the hall, another door opened, dripping red light and silk threads flowing out like veins.

A figure emerged, stepping through.

It wasn’t the First Bride.

It was Camela.

But another Camela—her double.

This version wore a stunning silk gown and a shining crown, her eyes filled with devotion as she smiled sweetly, saying:

“Stop running. I already chose.”

Vincent froze, his fire flickering uncertainly.

And Camela’s breath caught in her throat.

Because her double reached out her hand—straight toward Vincent.