Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
The room swirled with colors and laughter, people mingling as they moved between tables and clustered in small groups. It was surreal, like the entire scene was dipped in a haze I couldn’t quite shake. I whispered to Alexander, who stood tall beside me, his presence grounding me in the chaos, "How could everything be prepared so quickly?”
He glanced down at me, his expression unreadable. “Within moments of receiving the news, the preparations began. Many came forward to volunteer, to help with the cooking and decorations. It's our tradition, a mark of respect and unity.”
His words were simple, but there was an edge to them that I couldn’t place. A formality. A practiced response. The people here had seen this sort of thing before. They knew what was expected, what needed to be done.
The subtle pull I’d felt earlier, the strange connection to everything around me, was growing stronger. Was it the atmosphere? Or was it something else—the drink I’d consumed, perhaps? Whatever it was, it made me feel as though I was tethered to every person in the room by some invisible thread, drawing me in closer, making it harder to distinguish my own thoughts from the noise around me.
Music drifted from somewhere in the background, soft but steady, the melody weaving its way through the air, adding to the otherworldly feel of the night.
We paused at the entrance, and I instinctively clutched Alexander's arm for support. My fingers tightened around the fabric of his sleeve, the only thing anchoring me was the overwhelming swirl of sounds, sights, and smells threatened to pull me under. Then, as if on cue, a voice echoed through the room, clear and commanding:
“Our Diabolus and his Sponsa Diaboli have arrived.”
Multiple heads turned toward us as we entered the grand room, and the weight of their eyes on me made me grip Alexander’s arm tighter. My heart thudded in my chest, and I clung to him like he was my anchor in the sea of masked, painted faces—some of them unfamiliar, all of them watching us.
Alexander’s hand on my back was steady, guiding me forward through the crowd. The people parted for us without hesitation, their eyes never lifting as we passed. There was something almost unnerving about it, the way they treated him like a god and me like his queen. I wasn’t sure how to feel about it, about any of this. But I didn’t have time to dwell on it. Not now.
We moved deeper into the room, Alexander’s gaze never leaving me.
He had that look in his eyes—the one that told me he knew exactly what I was thinking, even if I hadn’t said a word. I could feel his possessiveness, the quiet authority that radiated off him in waves. There was no doubt in his mind that I was his. And in this world, where everyone else seemed to believe it too, I found it harder and harder to resist the pull of it.
The evening unfolded like some kind of twisted fairy tale. It was nothing like a funeral.
The feast was elaborate, with tables overflowing with food, and conversations hummed around us like soft background noise. But beneath the surface, there was tension, an undercurrent that made my skin prickle. This wasn’t just a celebration—it was something darker I wasn’t sure I was ready to fully understand.
At one point, I drifted away from Alexander’s side, pulled toward Esther, Keres, and Pandora. We gathered around one of the long tables, the night taking on a quieter, more intimate tone. It was easier with them, but even here, the difference in how we were treated was glaringly obvious. Keres and Pandora were respected, sure, but I—Sponsa Diaboli—was placed on a pedestal. Every word spoken to me was gentle, filled with reverence.
No one met my eyes unless I initiated it, and even then, some people avoided my gaze entirely. It reminded me of when I’d first Cassandra and Jamison.
I asked Esther about it as we stood by one of the ornate tables. “Why won’t they look at me?” I whispered.
Her painted lips twitched into a smile. “It’s out of respect,” she explained. “They aren’t on a level high enough to meet your gaze.”
I frowned. “That applies even now?”
“Of course. It’s a sign of respect, acknowledging your place above them.”
“But I’m not—.”
“You are,” she cut me off gently. “You’re Sponsa Diaboli now. Alexander’s chosen. That puts you above even other Electi.”
I looked around the room again, at the people who avoided meeting my gaze, the polite smiles that were directed my way but never lingered.
It felt... strange. Like being placed in a glass case for everyone to admire but never truly interact with.
“Is it always like this?”
Esther laughed lightly, her arm brushing against mine in a familiar gesture. “For you? Yes. This is your life now. It comes with a certain level of... separation. You will always have me, though, and the other Electi, so don’t think you’re alone. And their servitors, Drita and Nanno, are two of the most well-educated and loyal the Isle.”