Page 3 of Demon Lord's Proposal

I struggle against their grip, my mind racing. How did Joesiah find out? How long has he known? The questions swirl in my head, making me dizzy.

"Sage!" Cora's voice cuts through the noise. She's fighting her way towards me, her face a mask of determination. "Let her go, you brutes!"

But it's no use. The guards are too strong, too many. I feel the cold bite of iron shackles around my wrists, and suddenly, it's as if a part of me has been cut off. My connection to my powers, to the very essence of who I am, feels muted and distant.

"No," I whisper, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. "No, no, no..."

They drag me out of the ballroom, my wedding dress catching and tearing on the rough wooden floor. Outside, the sky has darkened, angry storm clouds gathering overhead. A crowd has formed, their faces a blur of anger and fear.

"Witch!" "Hexeblood scum!" "Burn her!"

The shouts assault my ears as I'm roughly pushed to my knees in the center of what was supposed to be the reception area. A group of men in religious robes hurry forward, their faces grave.

"We will hold trial here and now," one of them announces, his voice carrying over the murmurs of the crowd. "The evidence of her witchcraft is clear. We must act swiftly to protect our community."

"This isn't a trial!" I shout, struggling against my bonds. "You can't do this!"

But my protests fall on deaf ears. Father Thomas turns to address the crowd, his voice dripping with righteous fury.

"We have among us a creature of darkness, an unholy witch who has deceived us all. She has used her unholy powers to infiltrate our society, to corrupt the very sanctity of marriage."

Fat droplets of rain begin to fall, quickly turning into a downpour. The crowd doesn't disperse; if anything, they press closer, their eyes gleaming with a fervor that chills me to the bone.

"The penalty for such deception, for the practice of witchcraft, is death," the religious leader continues. "Do you, assembled witnesses, find the accused guilty?"

A resounding chorus of "Guilty!" echoes through the rain-soaked air.

I feel numb, disconnected from my body as the guards haul me to my feet. This can't be happening. It's a nightmare, it has to be. But the rain soaking through my torn wedding dress, the mud squelching beneath my bare feet as they drag me towards the old oak tree at the edge of the property–it's all too real.

"Sage!" Cora's anguished cry reaches me. I turn my head to see her being held back by two men, tears streaming down her face. "Sage, I'm so sorry! I'll find a way to fix this, I swear!"

But we both know there's no fixing this. As they secure the noose around my neck, I can't help but think of all the choices that led me here. Should I have told Joesiah the truth from the start? Would it have made a difference? Or was this always going to be my fate, no matter what I did?

The rain is coming down in sheets now, plastering my hair to my face. I taste salt and realize I'm crying. Through the curtain of rain, I see Joesiah standing at the front of the crowd, his face an unreadable mask.

"Any last words, witch?" the executioner growls.

I open my mouth, but what is there to say? How can I possibly explain or defend myself to people who've already decided I'm a monster? Instead, I close my eyes and reach deep within myself, past the dampening effect of the iron shackles, searching for that core of power that's always been a part of me.

There–a flicker, a spark. I grasp onto it, feeling it grow stronger, hotter. My eyes snap open, and I hear gasps from the crowd. I know what they're seeing: my eyes glowing with an otherworldly light, the sigils on my skin burning bright enough to shine through my sodden dress.

"I am Sage," I say, my voice carrying clearly despite the storm. "I am a hexeblood, an alchemist, a woman who only wanted to love and be loved. Remember that."

The executioner moves to pull the lever, but not before I see a flicker of something–regret? fear?–cross Joesiah's face. Then the world drops away beneath my feet.

For a moment, there's nothing but pain and the roar of blood in my ears. Then, suddenly, a strange calm washes over me. The rain on my face feels cool and soothing. The wind whispers through the leaves of the old oak, almost like it's calling my name.

As my vision begins to darken at the edges, I feel a surge of power unlike anything I've ever experienced. It flows through me, around me, filling the air with crackling energy. The last thing I see before darkness claims me is a bolt of lightning striking the old oak, splitting it down the middle in a shower of sparks and splintered wood.

Then, nothing.

2

DEUS

Iapproach the group of new arrivals, their disorientation hanging in the air like a thick fog. The redhead's eyes lock onto mine, a spark of defiance amidst the fear. As I draw closer, I catch fragments of their hushed conversation.

"This can't be real," a middle-aged man in a rumpled suit mutters. "I was just on the subway and then–"

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