Page 56 of Virgil's Demons

You're making a mistake," I hiss, knowing he's willing to give up the only thing he has left. His love. His soul.

"Saving her is not a mistake," he answers. "You have no idea what it means to be human. You have never known what true pain is...nor will you."

The ground shakes beneath us as he speaks the final words of the ritual, sealing my fate. Virgil's love, his sacrifice proved to be true. It's enough. More than enough.

I feel my hold on Barythaya slip away, my power draining as I'm bound to this place, to this moment. The air crackles with energy, the earth groaning beneath the weight of the sacrifice. And then it's done.

I scream, feeling my last grip on humanity fade. The hands of the undead drag me back down to purgatory.

As I fall, I watch as Barythaya collapse into Virgil's arms, unconscious, but safe.Virgil had just lost everything.

He may have saved her, but he condemned them both to a fate worse than death.

A life apart.

A love forgotten.

VIRGIL

It's been months since that night. Months since I made that godforsaken deal and gave up everything that tethered me to this world, all in exchange for her safety. I paid that price and in a way Death won. It took her away from me, tore our love from her memories like it never existed, like I never mattered.

But I remembered. I remembered everything.

Her touch, her kiss, the way she sighed my name. How she felt beneath my fingertips and how just by one touch, she eased my soul. I remembered it all.

I lean against the cold brick wall outside her shop, the dim light from her tattoo parlor spilling out onto the empty street. The hum of the neon sign above me flickers on and off, casting shadows across my face. I watch her through the window, moving with that same grace I've come to memorize over the last few months. She's always had that quiet intensity about her, focused, like the world doesn't exist outside of her ink and needles.

She doesn't know me now. Doesn't even glance my way when she steps out, locking up the shop for the night. But that doesn'tstop me from being here, hiding in the shadows just out of sight, always watching.

It's become a sickness now. This desperate need to be near her, to see her, to feel close to something I'll never have again.

To remind myself of what I lost.

I thought losing her would be final, like a clean cut. But it's worse than that. It's like bleeding out, slow and endless. She's alive, right there in front of me, and yet she's a stranger. It's a twisted kind of torture, watching her live without me, without a single shred of memory to tie her to me.

I don't know what I expected after the ritual. Maybe I hoped for a miracle, a loophole where I could keep some part of what we had. But Death doesn't play that way. It took her from me in every way that counts. The connection we had, the fire, it's gone, snuffed out like it never meant a damn thing.

But even now, Ifeelher. Like a ghost of something that never really even had a chance That emptiness lingered in the space between us. I never got to know her the way I wanted. Never got to see the hidden parts of her she kept locked away behind those guarded eyes, behind her ink and her scars. And now, I never will.

Every night, I come here. Close enough to see her, far enough to stay hidden. I tell myself that she doesn't need the mess of my world creeping into hers, doesn't need the burden of remembering what I took from her. She's moved on. She's building something for herself, living her life, unaware of the shadows following her.

And me? I'm just another shadow now.

It's pathetic, isn't it? Stalking her like some lovesick fool who can't let go.

I've told myself a hundred times that I should leave her alone. That I should let her live in peace, free of the chaos that comes with knowing me. But I can't. I don't know how to.

So I stand here, night after night, watching her from a distance. I tell myself it's to make sure she's safe, to keep an eye on her in case something goes wrong. But deep down, I know the truth. I'm here because I miss her. Because even though she doesn't remember me, I can't stop remembering her.

She doesn't smile as much as she used to. That's the first thing I noticed after the ritual. Maybe it's just me projecting my own pain onto her, but she seemed... different. Quieter. A little more guarded than usual. Like she knows something's missing but can't put her finger on what it is.

Sometimes, I wonder if shefeelsit too—if there's some part of her, deep down, that still recognizes me. It's a stupid thought, but it's the only thing that keeps me sane.

The sound of her laughter breaks through the stillness, and I freeze. She's standing outside now, talking to one of her clients, a soft smile playing on her lips. The kind of smile that used to be mine. But now, it's for someone else.

I feel something twist in my chest, something ugly and cold. I shouldn't be here. I wanted this for her, didn't I? I wanted her to be safe, to live without the weight of knowing me, without the pain of what I dragged her into. But seeing her smile at someone else like that...it's like being ripped apart from the inside.

I turn away, my fists clenched tight, trying to breathe through the ache that I know, will never go away. I should leave. Walk away. I'm not a part of her life anymore.

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