The next time I woke up, it was… morning? I think.

There was no sun here, no real light. Just a faint grayness leaking through the black-glass window, like the world outside was tired of shining. I’d slept in my clothes again—body stiff, sore from the cold stone floor. The bed loomed nearby like a silent threat, untouched.

I sat up slowly, every nerve on edge.

No footsteps. No whispers. No Valen.

I stood.

My heart beat faster with every step I took toward the door.

No lock?

My fingers brushed the handle.

It turned.

I opened the door, slowly, silently. No alarms. No guards. Just a long, endless hallway that stretched into shadow and stone.

I didn’t think.

I ran.

My bare feet padded against the floor—cold, silent, desperate. I turned corners at random, not knowing where I was going, only that I had to move. Had to escape. Had to breathe air that didn’t belong to him.

A staircase.

Down.

Another hallway.

A heavy door.

I shoved it open, breath catching—and—

Outside.

Trees. Real trees. Misty forest. Morning chill.

I bolted.

Branches scraped my arms, my legs. The wind bit my skin. The scent of pine and damp earth hit me like a drug. I was out—I was out—I was—

“Going somewhere?”

His voice slithered through the fog behind me.

I didn’t look back.

I ran harder, lungs burning, legs aching—but I didn’t care.

Then something hit me.

Not hard. Just enough.

The world tilted.

I collapsed into leaves and dirt, breath heaving, vision spinning.

Boots stepped into view.

Black.

Silent.

I looked up—and there he was.

Valen.

Arms folded. Not smiling. Not angry.

Just watching.

Studying.

Like I was a maze he was halfway through solving.

“You’re quick,” he said quietly, crouching beside me. “I almost let you win.”

I scrambled backward, hands shaking.

“Almost.”

His fingers reached out, brushing my hair back behind my ear like I was something breakable.

But I didn’t break.

Not yet.

“Don’t run again, Lilith,” he said. “You’re not meant to leave me.”

In a swift, effortless movement, he lifted me clean off the ground and slung me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing.

“Hey—! I’m not a sack of potatoes!” I growled, kicking and wriggling as hard as I could. My fists thumped uselessly against his back. “Put me down, you overgrown leech!”

“Stop moving,” he said coolly, adjusting his grip with one arm wrapped firmly around my hips, the other resting casually at his side like this was routine. Like I wasn’t even a struggle.

“Let go of me, you old vampire!”

That got a reaction.

He paused mid-step.

Then his voice slid out, low and amused. “Old?”

“You look like you crawled out of a dusty coffin!”

“Careful,” he warned, but I could hear the smirk in his voice. “You wound me, little flame.”

“Good.”

He chuckled softly—then walked faster.

I squirmed again, but every muscle of his body was iron. His shoulder dug into my stomach, and my hair was a mess of tangles falling around my face.

“This is kidnapping, you know!” I shouted. “Illegal. Highly illegal!”

“I’ll be sure to report myself to the proper authorities.”

“Argh! You’re insufferable!”

“Yet, here you are.”

Once we reached the room—the one I had woken up in, the one that felt more like a dream than a place—I barely had time to catch my breath before he crossed the threshold.

Valen walked in without a word and lowered me onto the bed with a strange kind of care. But it wasn’t gentle—it was controlled. Like everything he did was a calculation.

“Stay,” he commanded, voice like velvet wrapped around steel.

Then he turned on his heel, coat brushing his legs, and walked back toward the door. He didn’t glance at me again.

The door shut behind him with a solid click.

Then—click again.

Locked.

I sat frozen on the bed, staring at the door like it might open again. It didn’t.

He locked me in.

I stood and rushed to the door, fingers wrapping around the handle. I tried it anyway. Of course, it didn’t budge. I pressed my ear to the wood, listening—but there was nothing. Just silence.

A silence that wrapped around me like a cage.

I backed away slowly and sat on the edge of the bed, heart thudding.

I was really here.

Wherever here was.

And he wasn’t letting me leave.

I stared at the door for a long moment after the lock clicked. My breath was still ragged from the chase, my muscles aching from how close I’d come.

I’d almost made it.

Almost.

But Valen had caught me like it was nothing—like I was a rabbit trying to outrun a storm. One second I’d been slipping through the west corridor, hand brushing the cool handle of some servant’s side door, and the next—

He was behind me.

Then in front of me.

Then on me.

He hadn’t even broken a sweat.

And now I was back in this room—this too-black room that swallowed the light, the color, the fight out of me.

I sank down on the bed, still breathing hard. My palm throbbed from where I’d scraped it in the hallway, trying to push off the stone floor after he’d knocked me down. There was a thin line of blood trailing up my wrist.

The scent of it made my stomach twist.

His words still echoed in my head:

“You can’t run from me, little flame.”

I hated that name.

I hated how easily he said it. Like he knew something I didn’t. Like he liked how it sounded in his mouth.

I grabbed one of the pillows and screamed into it, muffling my frustration and panic. It didn’t help.

Nothing helped.

After a few minutes, I got up again, pacing the room. It was either that or fall apart entirely.

I tested the window again. Still locked. Thick. Reinforced glass, maybe enchanted. I couldn’t even tell anymore. I felt like a butterfly trapped under glass—watched, helpless.

But I wasn’t helpless.

If I couldn’t run away, then I’d find another way. A slower way. A quieter one.
Maybe I couldn’t break the glass. Maybe I couldn’t fight him. But I could make myself impossible to control. I could remind him that I was still me—not his pet, not his prisoner.

And so began my silent rebellion.

I refused to eat. The silver tray of food that appeared each morning sat untouched. Every time the servants knocked, I said nothing. If they entered, I turned my back to them.

I refused to speak. Not to the guards posted outside the door, not to the maid who brought fresh clothes, and especially not to him.

When Valen entered the room, I didn’t flinch anymore—I didn’t acknowledge him at all.
I kept my eyes fixed on a book spine, the wall, the corner of the rug. Anywhere but his face.

And it worked, at first.

The first time he noticed the untouched food, he frowned slightly.
The second day, he asked, “Not hungry?” in that smooth, dangerous tone.
I didn’t answer.
He didn’t press.

But on the third day, he sat across from me in the chair by the window, legs crossed casually, as if we were in some elegant parlor and not a black cage of his design.

“You’re going to get weak,” he said. “Not that it would make much of a difference. You’re already fragile.”

Still, I said nothing.

He leaned forward slightly. “Is this how you show defiance? By starving yourself into obedience?”

I kept my mouth shut and my gaze on the window.

“Fine,” he said after a long moment. His voice was cold. “Waste away, little flame. But don’t expect sympathy when the hunger turns against you.”

He stood and left.

The door locked again.

I waited until I was sure he was gone before I exhaled, slow and shaky. My stomach ached with emptiness. My throat was dry. But I would not give in. Not yet.

If he thought I was prey—he’d learn what prey could do when cornered.

He remained patient.
Infuriatingly patient.

He didn’t yell. He didn’t storm in. He didn’t force the food down my throat or try to charm me into submission.

He waited.

Each day, he entered the room like a shadow slipping through the door—unannounced, silent, tall and composed.
He’d glance at me, sometimes speak a word or two—taunting, testing.
Other times he simply stood in the doorway, watching me like one might watch a flickering candle: curious to see if I would burn out or explode.

The tension became unbearable.
Thick like smoke, pressing against my ribs.

Even when he said nothing, I felt him.
Felt his presence like gravity—like his body pulled mine toward it, no matter how I twisted to resist.

I tried to keep my face blank, unreadable.
But I could sense it in the way his eyes lingered—he saw through me.

The hunger gnawed at my spine.
Sleep came in ragged, broken fragments.
I dreamed of his red-flecked eyes watching me. I dreamed of fangs. Of kisses like knives.

And still, I kept my silence.
Until one night…

He came in. No words. No tray. No guards.
Just him—black-clad, dusk-wrapped, as if the night itself had taken human shape.

He closed the door behind him and leaned against it.
The flickering candlelight danced across his sharp features.

“You’re stubborn,” he said softly, as if amused.
No malice. No anger.
Just that cold, velvet curiosity.

I didn’t respond. I just stared ahead, jaw tight, heart hammering against my ribs.

“Do you hate me so much you’d rather die than look me in the eye?”

I flinched. It was small—barely there. But he saw it.
Of course he saw it.

He pushed off the door and crossed the room in three long steps.
I tensed, but didn’t back away.

He crouched in front of me, close—too close—and for a moment, there was nothing in his gaze but raw, ancient hunger.

But then, softer:
“You too sweet even when you’re angry, Lilith.”

The words slithered over my skin like silk laced with thorns.

I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. I hated that he said my name like that—like it was something he already owned.

I could smell his breath. It wasn’t foul—it was cold, strange, like the wind before a thunderstorm. Sharp with the promise of something unnatural. Ancient. Dangerous.

Then he stood and left.

The door clicked shut behind him.

its been a week since, my appearance has shifted. i'm thin, thin enough to see my ribs, my white hair is messy and had lost it beautiful glow. my eyes fractured between stormy grey and molten amber look tired my skin has lost some of its tone and my lips was now dry.

 i hadn't eaten, not once. not even drinking. Valen walk in. "you need to eat Little flame, you body can't stand this much more" he voice was clam, but steel cold. i smile bitterly but didn't open my mouth, didn't look at him. 

something shifted, i couldn't see him, but i felt it and then came his voice, commanding, cold and....angry? "Lilith, open you mouth." my jaws move before my mind catch up. and a spoon of warm soup

…was already past my lips.

The taste hit my tongue—rich, earthy, spiced just enough to remind me of home. It betrayed me, that taste. It cracked something.

But I didn’t swallow.

I glared at him, cheeks full of soup I refused to accept. He stared right back, unblinking.

“You will swallow it,” he said. Not loud. Not cruel. But resolute. Like gravity.

Tears burned at the corners of my eyes. My pride, my silence—it all felt so fragile now. I wanted to fight. I wanted to scream.

But my body betrayed me again.

I swallowed.

A single tear slipped down my cheek as I choked it down. The warmth slid into my hollow stomach and I hated the way my body sighed in relief. I hated him more for making it happen.

Valen didn’t look triumphant. He didn’t smirk.

He looked… tired.

“You’re not a caged bird, Lilith,” he murmured, placing the bowl down beside the bed. “But you are mine. And I won't let you break yourself just to prove something.”

I turned away, burying my face in the pillow so he wouldn’t see the shaking in my shoulders. Whether it was from weakness, hunger, or rage—I wasn’t sure anymore.

He stood for a moment, silent.

Then I heard the door open and shut again.

And I was alone. With soup I didn’t want. And a war I was starting to lose.

The world tilted.

One moment I was pacing the room in slow defiance, the next my knees gave out beneath me. My hands barely caught the edge of the bed before everything turned to mist. My vision blurred—dark spots dancing across my sight—and then nothing.

When I came to, I was on the bed, tucked beneath the red blanket.

The soft clink of a spoon against porcelain drew my attention. Valen sat beside me again, but this time he didn’t speak. He simply dipped a spoon into the bowl and waited.

I didn’t have the strength to glare at him.

He lifted the spoon to my lips and I felt the warmth, smelled the broth—light, herbal, and gently spiced. Something simple, something… gentle.

“No tricks,” he said, quietly. “Just soup.”

My throat hurt. My lips cracked when I parted them. But I did.

He fed me in silence, one spoon at a time. Patient. Steady. No smugness. No commands.

“You fainted,” he finally said, as if explaining why he was here like this. “If I had been a moment later…”

I saw it then—a flicker behind his calm face. Worry. Maybe even… regret?

I swallowed another spoonful, and the warmth curled through my aching body. I hated him. But I couldn’t hate this—the careful way he held the bowl, how he checked my pulse with the backs of his fingers.

“Why do you care?” I rasped. My voice was broken glass.

He paused mid-spoon.

“I told you,” he said, eyes never leaving mine. “You’re mine, Little Flame. I take care of what’s mine.”

The answer should’ve chilled me.

Instead, it just… confused me.