Ha! As if she deserves to live. Let’s offer her.”

“We’ll be rich once she becomes the demon’s bride!”

“They say if you give the devil a woman as his wife, he blesses the family with unimaginable wealth.”

“The scapegoat—the sacrifice…it’s you.”

The old man dragged a blindfolded woman into the room. She wore a revealing red lace nightdress, her wrists bound. Despite her blindness, she fought back, gritting her teeth, thrashing in his grip.

“You’re just an illegitimate daughter anyway.”

“I’d rather offer you to a demon than get my hands dirty killing you myself.”

“I don’t believe in legends, but if it means I’ll be rich…what have I got to lose?”

“Disgusting...the child of my husband’s mistress.”

Inside the candle-lit chamber, cloaked in red, stood the Lyons family. The patriarch and matriarch, aged and cruel. Three of their grown children entered behind them, two sons, one daughter. All of them in crimson cloaks, faces cold and gleaming with wicked anticipation.

“Hmph. Can’t believe we had to grow up with you pretending to be our sister.”

“Die already! Even as a bastard, you act too proud.”

“You should thank us for raising you!”

The captive woman was thrown onto the pentagram carved into the floor. She hit the stone hard, her face scraping against it. She winced, but didn’t cry out.

“She doesn’t deserve anything beautiful or good.”

“Heh…she should’ve been grateful to serve as our maid.”

“She’s lucky she even got to breathe our air.”

“Enough! The ritual begins now.”

The blindfolded woman slowly pushed herself up, blood on her lip, yet a wicked grin on her face. She couldn’t see them, but her voice cut through the room like a blade.

“Heh...you think you’ll get away with this?”

She spat in the direction of their voices, her aim true. The youngest son recoiled as her spit struck his shoe.

“If what you say is true...then I’m honored to be his bride. And when he comes for me…I’ll come for you all.”

A silence fell, shocked at her defiance. Then rage.

She couldn’t believe that a wealthy family like this actually believes in rituals like this. Demons? Devils? Angels? God? Are the stories all true?

If they are, then she’s living in hell right now—always abused whenever the family likes it. It pisses her off to the core but someday, one day…she will get revenge and hunt them down!

They’re her demons. If there is really such a thing as “God”, then why has she lived in hell since the day she was born? She didn’t do anything to deserve anything like this. She has worked all her life for them, against her will.

Now she’s being offered to the devil. For what? Wealth?

Pathetic!

The eldest daughter stepped forward and struck her across the face. It snapped her out of her thoughts. The woman fell again, but laughed as if pain meant nothing.

“Shut up! You filthy woman! You won’t even live long enough to become anything!”

She sat up again, unfazed. It was even a miracle how she was able to live numbly and be able to fight against them despite all the pain they’ve done to her.

Twenty-four years was enough time to memorize their voices, their movements, their rhythm. Even blindfolded, she could map out the room just by the venom in their tone.

If this is the way I’ll die, then so be it! If this is the only way I can gain my freedom…then so be it!

Her head tilted slightly, her focus sharp on the eldest daughter. She didn’t need sight to know she was standing right in front of her.

“Me? Filthy?” she scoffed, voice low and mocking. “Tell that to your father.”

Gasps echoed. The family couldn’t believe how audacious she was, as she had always been their maid. Didn’t they abuse her since she was a child? Didn’t they tell her that she’s going to be killed, then offered to the devil?

Where was her bravery coming from? Why does she have this fighting spirit?

“Was it me who begged to be born?” she continued. “Or was it your father who couldn’t keep it in his pants and knocked up another woman?”

“You bitch!”

Still, she wanted to taunt them further. And it was working.

“Oh, and your mother…she stayed with the man who screwed around and made bastards like me. So, what does that make her? Loyal? Or just pathetically dirty?”

“You little—”

“Wait, let me finish,” she said, leaning forward. “If I’m dirty because I’m the result of some affair, then aren’t you dirty, too? After all, you’re the child of a serial cheater who probably fucked dozens of women.”

Crack!

The mother slapped her hard. Harder than before. Her teeth slammed into the inside of her cheek, tearing soft flesh. She tasted blood, metallic and bitter, but only grinned.

Without hesitation, she turned her head and spit the blood straight at the matriarch’s face.

The old woman recoiled with a disgusted cry, stepping back. But before she could retaliate, the bound woman chuckled.

“My, aren’t you feisty! Maybe if you were this freaky, your husband wouldn’t have cheated on you in the first place. Maybe he’d have actually stuck around to ‘play’ with you more.”

“How dare you—”

“Enough!” the old man roared, his voice booming. “One more word and I’ll throw you into the circle as well!”

The room fell silent. Even the children froze, wide-eyed, disturbed by their father’s fury. Tension cracked the air like lightning.

Then, slowly, they moved into position, forming a circle around the captive woman. They joined hands, their crimson cloaks rustling like whispers in the dark.

The old man began to chant.

“Daemonium divitiarum, audi vocem nostram.”

“Demon of riches, hear our voice.”

His family responded in eerie unison, their voices hollow and reverent. The ritual had begun.

He stepped out of the circle, knife in hand, and knelt before the bound woman. With one sharp motion, he sliced his palm open. Blood pooled in his hand before dripping, slow, deliberate, onto her face.

“Hostiam tibi damus, sanguinem purum.”

“We give you a sacrifice, blood pure.”

The room remained cloaked in darkness, save for the flicker of candlelight casting dancing shadows on the walls.

She felt the old man’s blood soaking into the blindfold…trailing down her cheek…over her lips…dripping to her nose.

A chill ran down her spine. But she didn’t tremble. Instead, she lifted her chin. And with a wicked grin, she licked the blood clean off her lips.

Unshaken.

Unafraid.

“Pro opibus aeternis, accipe donum nostrum.”

“For eternal wealth, accept our gift.”

He suddenly seized her wrist, making her flinch. Without hesitation, he dragged the blade across her palm. The cut was deep—too deep. Blood gushed freely, spilling down her arm and pooling on the floor beneath her.

“Nngh!”

She winced, hissing through clenched teeth, and jerked her hand away from his grasp. Unbothered, the old man rose and retrieved a tattered, half-burnt bible from the altar. Pages fluttered as he flipped through them, stopping only when his lips began to move again.

“Veni, accipe, dona nobis aurum et potentiam.”

“Come, receive—grant us gold and power.”

From a nearby cloth, he lifted a small, black figurine, twisted in shape, horned, humanoid, but monstrous. He smeared his own blood on its surface before kneeling once more before her.

Grabbing her wounded hand, he forced it to clutch the demonic idol. Her palm throbbed in pain as the blood coated its cold surface. Without mercy, he tied her hand around it with rough rope, letting her blood soak into both the rope and the figurine.

The wound stung. The ropes cut deeper into torn flesh. But Cerise did not scream. She held still, refusing to give them the satisfaction.

“In aeternum ligamur, voluntate tua.”

“Forever we are bound, by your will.”

For the first time, fear crept into her chest. As much as she tried to ignore it, she felt something. A pressure in the air, a pull in her veins, a prickling at the back of her neck.

Maybe it was all real.

She had spent her life buried under their cruelty. Treated as the maid. The unwanted child. The stain on their so-called family name.

And yet they only wanted to get rid of her now when she had nothing left to give.

Hatred twisted inside her like a flame suddenly starved of air, about to explode. She had never loved them. Not once. And they made sure she never forgot it.

The old man raised his arms, his voice louder now, echoing off the walls like a curse.

“Andras Caelum…we offer this woman to you, Cerise Whitlock, as your bride!”

Cerise gritted her teeth. If the legends were true…if a demon was about to take her hand, then she would rise.

Not as a servant. Not as a sacrifice.

But as his queen.

She would gain that power. And she would tear them apart.

Slowly.

Painfully.

One. By. One.