Page 1 of Demon Lord's Proposal

1

SAGE

The ancient floorboards creak beneath my feet as I pace the confines of my dressing room. Outside, the oppressive Louisiana heat presses against the windows, fogging the glass and blurring the view of the overgrown garden beyond.

I pause, pressing my palm against the cool surface, leaving a perfect imprint of my hand. For a moment, I'm transfixed by the faint, barely visible lines etched into my skin–alchemical sigils, a reminder of who–and what–I truly am.

"Sage? Honey, you in there?" Cora's voice, thick with her bayou drawl, drifts through the door.

I clear my throat, willing my voice to sound steadier than I feel. "It’s open."

The door swings open with a protesting groan, and Cora bustles in, her arms laden with fabric and flowers. Her eyes, warm and brown as chicory coffee, widen as she takes me in.

"Lord have mercy, Sage! You ain't even started gettin' ready?" She tsks, shaking her head. "We've got ourselves a weddin' to attend, remember?"

I manage a weak smile. "Hard to forget..."

Cora sets her burdens down on a nearby chaise lounge, its once-regal upholstery now faded and threadbare. She turns to me, hands on her hips, her expression a mixture of exasperation and concern.

"What's eatin' at you, sugar? You look like you've seen a ghost." She pauses, then lets out a soft chuckle. "Well, I reckon that ain't exactly unusual 'round these parts, is it?"

I can't help but laugh at that, some of the tension easing from my shoulders. "No, I suppose not."

Cora begins to unpack the dress, a confection of ivory lace and silk that seems to shimmer with an otherworldly light. "Come on now, let's get you dolled up. Can't keep your man waitin', can we?"

As she helps me into the gown, I'm struck by a sudden wave of nostalgia. "Do you ever think about the past, Cora? About... different choices we could have made?"

Her hands still for a moment as she's fastening the back of the dress. "Course I do, cher. Don't we all?" She resumes her work, her voice softening. "But today ain't about the past. It's about your future with Joesiah. You've got a good thing goin' here, don't you?"

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Cora's right, of course. I do have a good thing going here. But still, on days like today, the weight of my secret feels heavier than ever.

"There," Cora says, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "You're a vision. Now, let's do somethin' about that hair of yours."

As Cora works, weaving sprigs of nightshade and yarrow into my auburn waves, I allow my mind to drift back to the day I met Joesiah. It had been at one of the town's grand masquerades, a swirling affair of darkness and light, of whispered promises and veiled threats.

I'd been there selling my "herbal remedies," carefully crafted concoctions that walked the line between medicine and something... more. Joesiah had approached my booth, his mask a work of art depicting a crow in flight. "What's your most interesting remedy?" he'd asked, his voice a low, enticing rumble.

I'd smiled, selecting a small vial filled with a shimmering, opalescent liquid. "This," I'd said, holding it up to the candlelight. "It's for vivid dreams. One drop for pleasant visions, two for prophetic glimpses. Three..." I'd paused for effect. "Well, let's just say three drops is inadvisable."

He'd laughed then, a rich, warm sound that sent shivers down my spine. "And what if I were to drink the entire vial?"

"Then I suppose you'd be at my mercy," I'd replied, surprising myself with my boldness.

From that moment on, we'd been inseparable. Joesiah had shown me a world beyond my small apothecary, introduced me to the town's high society. And I, in turn, had shared with him my knowledge of herbs and remedies, carefully hiding the true extent of my alchemical practice.

"Sage? Sage, honey, you with me?" Cora's voice pulls me back to the present.

I blink, realizing I've been lost in thought. "Sorry, Cora. Just... remembering."

She gives me a knowing look. "Thinkin' about how you and Joesiah met?"

I nod, a smile tugging at my lips. "Is it that obvious?"

"Sugar, you've got that look in your eye. The one you always get when you're thinkin' about him." She steps back, admiring her handiwork. "There. You're ready."

I turn to the full-length mirror, its gilded frame tarnished with age. The woman staring back at me is both familiar and strange. The dress hugs my slender frame, the delicate lace a stark contrast to my pale skin. My hair falls in soft waves, the deep auburn shimmering in the dim light. But it's my eyes that catch my attention–bright green with flecks of gold, hiding secrets I've never dared to share.

"You look beautiful, Sage," Cora says softly. "Like somethin' out of a fairy tale."

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