Torn pages of a weathered leather-covered book, stained a rich coffee brown by the relentless march of time, lay before Ada. A canvas of a thousand scribbles, etched in dark graphite, seemed to mock her weary eyes.

Not a single curve, not a straight line, offered solace as tears fell, turning the paper into a mushy canvas of emotions. Her fingertips traced over the graphite lines, each one dedicated to dreams that never materialised, and memories destined to fade away with her.

As her eyes moved through the pages, the perfect curves of his plump lips formed an adorable smile, and his eyes, even in pale forest green pastels on the rough paper, shone with a timeless radiance. Weightless papers flipped on their own, guided by a gentle breeze, stopping at a page where tiny figures in graphite outline giggled silently. A man, draped in a dark cloak outlined with graphite, and a girl half his size danced across the page, their motions radiating the bliss of life. Despite her best efforts, fresh tears welled up, and she clapped her palms over her eyes, losing herself to a decade-long sob.

"Ada..." A warm voice, belonging to the kindest woman on this planet, whispered near her ear, pulling her from the maze of weary thoughts. She hastily shut the book before glancing over it, meeting her compassionate gaze. Her fingers gently stroked through Ada's hair, planting a soft kiss.

"Grandma... you're back?" Ada mumbled, her voice cracking with each syllable.

"Yes, honey. It finished earlier than expected. But why are you crying, sweetie?"

"It's nothing."

It really wasn't nothing, but Ada didn't want to burden her grandmother with her pain. She knew she struggled with those memories, but she needed to move forward, and her grandmother understood that too.

"Come on, dear. You look really torn when you cry."

"Sorry, Grandma. I just... I just can't help it."

Another stream of hot tears traced down Ada's wet cheeks, and her grandmother cupped Ada's cheeks in her puffy rosy hands, her melodic voice soothing Ada's torn soul.

"Shhh... It's okay. Everything is gonna be okay." As her comforting words wrapped around Ada, she found solace in her grandmother's embrace. Her grandmother drew a silver chain from her pocket, unveiling a small crescent moon pendant, identical to the one Ada thought was lost years ago.

"Is that... Is that my Luna Pearl?" Ada asked, her eyes widening in surprise.

Her grandmother reached for Ada's hands, placing the ornament gently on Ada's palm. "It is. Beautiful, right?"

"But didn't it get destroyed the last time I fought with Gan?" Ada had never expected to see it again after that fateful encounter.

"It did not sweetheart. Luna Pearl is more than you think it is. A mere spirit like him can do nothing to destroy it."

Her grandmother's face shifted from sweet warmth to seriousness, her chocolate brown eyes holding a mixture of love and concern.

"But I have to admit he's quite the tough one. Remember, he's not dead. He's just severely damaged. Be prepared when he returns."

"Is that her?" a whispered voice dragged her out of her daze. Her head spinned. She felt weightless, as if her body had become insubstantial.

"Is she dead?" another voice questioned, curiosity evident.

"I don't think so. She is breathing," a third voice exclaimed, concern lacing their words.

"Move aside, Brit. Let me see her too... Ooh, she is beautiful," a fourth voice joined in, clearly pleased by what they saw.

Gradually, she was returning to consciousness as the chirping of her surroundings grew crisp, their presence looming in the darkness. Those twinkling green eyes stared down at her, dispelling any notion of heavenly peace. Clad in black, they blended into the dimly lit space, their ominous gazes intensifying.

Death was not something easily evaded. Ada had tackled it quite a few times, as had countless other Romersais. Just as a season must eventually come to an end, every living being, no matter how resilient, was destined to face its ultimate demise.

'It seems I have reached my end, just like that. By my own kin. My own blood. And see how gracefully I've landed in hell!'

A chilling coldness permeated her bones, anchoring her to the cursed surface beneath her. Though her body yearned to escape, it remained unresponsive, as if trapped in an invisible prison. Amid of her bewildered state, an icy touch grazed her wrist, eliciting an involuntary startle and causing her to recoil.

The contact was painful, the fleeting sensation left a lingering sting upon her skin. As the chill subsided, the whispers of the ghostly figures surrounding her intensified, their spectral voices growing louder and more insistent. The air crackled with an energy she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"Not dead, are you?" a voice spoke, its words slicing through the air like a winter breeze.

Then it was back. The touches. Worse tenfold. The icy sensation spread like tendrils along her right arm, tracing a chilling path that sent involuntary shivers down her spine. She clenched her eyes shut tightly, the weight of her circumstances pressing upon her weary soul.

A sharp pang tugged at her heart as she remembered Auden and their final moments together. They weren't essentially pleasant given the fact that they were at each other's throats. She had failed to save him from the demon within. She had failed them both.

A solitary tear managed to escape the confines of her tired eyes, tracing a glistening path down her cheek. Self-pity engulfed Ada, engulfing her in a sea of sorrow as she yearned to unleash her pent-up emotions through anguished sobs.

Suddenly an ominous croak of a raven resonated through the air, its haunting sound cutting through the silence, becoming more clearer and solid as it closed in every pulsing second. It was followed by the rush of mighty wings, their powerful strokes creating a gust of wind. With each beat, they drew nearer, closing the distance between the unknown entity and her fragile form till a touch down clang of something sharp and the same force scraping the solid ground. Straining her ears, she caught the faint but distinct sound of approaching footsteps, measured and deliberate.

The icy touches that had sent shivers down her spine now receded, their cold embrace relinquishing its hold on her arm. She remained still, her senses heightened anticipating whatever to come.

"Is that what I asked you to do?" a hauntingly familiar voice quired, growing stronger and closer by the second, its tone filled with a mix of anger and disappointment.

"But my Lord, she is not dead," one of the voices from before attempted to explain.

"And did I ask you to check on her for that? When did I ask you to try and feast upon her soul, you lowlife?" the voice bellowed, its fury reverberating through the space.

'Wait, does that mean I'm still alive? Did I not die?' Summoning her strength, Ada commanded her eyelids to open, and this time they complied. And her surroundings slowly came into focus. She felt a wave of relief wash over her. She was still intact.

And then, her gaze fell upon the newly arrived face, way too familiar to miss, its amber eyes holding a glimmer of concern.

"You are... awake." He whispered.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Deveraux cast a wary gaze upon the girl before him, her trembling form swathed in one of his long, ebony coats. She rested on the luxurious expanse of his plush couch, ensconced in the comforting embrace of his dark attire. For what felt like an eternity, he had remained in silence, perched begrudgingly on a beanbag, while offering the far more comfortable seat to his unanticipated guest.

The dark lord couldn't help but feel a sliver of sympathy for her. Her quivering soul had borne witness to the loss of her brother to a demon. It was far from his nature to consort with humans, yet this particular one had somehow become his responsibility. Thus, he sat in unwavering patience, allowing the tempest of her adrenaline-fueled emotions to subside.

His spectral maids glided through the room, their ebony uniforms seamlessly blending with the dimly lit, luxurious atmosphere of his abode, carefully attending to the girl's injuries. Emotionless, their existence as cold and lifeless as the tomb from which they had risen, they moved with an eerie, unnatural grace. Their pallid skin, the hue of death, seemed to absorb the feeble light cast by the flickering candles.

One maid gently brushed away the remnants of the explosion that stained the girl's clothing, an act as emotionless as it was meticulous while another, her touches as delicate as death itself, tended to a scratch on the girl's hand, the pallor of her skin in stark contrast to the livid red of the wound. She tucked the girl's hand back under the comforting shroud of Deveraux's coat.

Another dared to attempt removing the coat hoping to replace it with a soft plush comforter as she had been instructed before. A soft but inaudible protest escaped the girl's lips. She clung to the coat with surprising strength, unwilling to relinquish the anchor it had become. Frustration flickered across the maid's lifeless face as she tried, without success, to take the coat from the girl's grasp.

"I've made a terrible mistake. I've messed up so badly," he heard the girl murmur, her words no louder than a breath, while a cascade of tears streamed down her face. Seeking solace, she nestled deeper into the protective folds of Deveraux's coat - her action elicited nothing more than a rueful eye roll from the dark lord-his patience waning.

Turning her gaze to Deveraux, the maid silently conveyed her plight. With a sigh, the dark lord acknowledged her request. In an instant, all the maids were dismissed, their presence fading into the shadows like wraiths. With a deep sigh, he rose from the beanbag and staggered toward the couch. Crouching beside her he peeped into her destressed face.

"It's all right, Ada. You'll be fine. Gather yourself now. You must remain strong," he consoled her, his voice soothing like the leaves rustling in a soft breeze.

He moved in closer, gently sweeping aside a strand of her soft blonde hair. Her face was pale and marred by two distinct scratches, one on her forehead and the other on her left cheek, where dried blood marked the aftermath of a terrible ordeal she had endured the previous night. Even before he knew it his finger was tracing the scars. Even in her semi-conscious state he could feel her relax.

She lay there vulnerable and beautiful in her distress, her eyes tightly shut, a river of warm, shimmering tears staining her rosy, puffy cheeks. He couldn't help but think of the younger version of herself, the girl full of wonder and innocence. Despite the trials she had faced, she had blossomed into a striking young woman, her lips, once vibrant, now drained of colour due to the night's terrors, quivering as she teetered on the edge of sleep.

Over a decade had passed, and yet, this human girl seemed to remain unchanged. She was still the same massive crybaby, wearing her emotions on her sleeve. Despite growing older, older enough to count mature in her life in human years, she hadn't lost that tendency to shed tears at the slightest pain or disapproval. It reminded him of his past.

He could feel the dense veil of negative energy surrounding her. She was terrified. He could sense the bitterness of her fear, the salty taste of her perceived failure in the tears that rolled down her cheeks, and the overwhelming concern for her missing brother. Most prominently, though, was the intense hatred she harboured for the malevolent spirit that had dared to threaten her family.

Oh, what a fine mixture of negative energy she emitted. Just the right taste hit his sweet spot if she had been his feast tonight. He had once been just like her--a wreck, a total disaster himself. But at some point, he had transformed into the 'source of wreckage' for others.

The intoxicating mix of her fear, failure, and hatred swirled around him, driving him to the brink of temptation. He could feel his emotions shifting to a darker, more sinister allure. Despite the paleness of her face and the dried trails of tears on her rosy cheeks, her lips held an allure, even when drained of colour. They looked tempting.

He inched closer, compelled by an inexplicable force.Their breaths mingled. His proximity to her, her trembling lips mere inches away, sent shivers through his being. His own emotions were in turmoil. As their lips hovered so temptingly close, he felt his resolve waver. He was drawn to the mix of her pain and fear, enticed by the dark energy that swirled around her like an intoxicating perfume.

He was almost lost in the throes of desire, when a surge of rationality surged through him. She was his responsibility, given written in gold letters by Lady Moira.

Like a sudden awakening, he pulled back.

With a quick, almost desperate movement, he drew away, his body shifting away from her unconscious form. It was as though he had been on the verge of a precipice, teetering dangerously close to a line he should never have crossed. A deep-seated realisation struck him, and he recoiled.

His hand instinctively reached up to cover his lips, as if to physically halt what had nearly transpired. He had been tempted to feed on her, to draw from her the negativity that pulsed within. For a demon like him, such actions were common, even expected. But this time, it felt different.

He had kept himself in check for so long. From the moment he realised she had fallen for Gan, he had distanced himself from her. She had him, everything she wished for in life. The long hours of her conversing with him about Gan had already given him enough time to set his mind.

He was happy for them, until the devil had left her, destroying her whole life into pieces. But then, it was too late for him to mediate in her life. There were things that the long residence in darkness could do to even the purest souls, after all, and he was no pure soul to begin with.

She was just a fragile mortal with only a brave heart. He could do nothing better and had not dared to step in, to protect her, to stand by her side. He was no different. He knew he was as vicious as Gagagore, if not more. If anything he would make matters worse for her.

Guilt, an emotion rarely associated with him, gnawed at the Dark Lord. He found himself feeling an unfamiliar empathy taking root within. She at the end somehow has become his responsibility, a charge handed to him by Lady Moira herself, and he couldn't betray that trust. But before he could dwell further on his newfound guilt, a voice broke the silence, interrupting his inner turmoil.

"I see you have brought her here, unharmed," the voice said.