Page 1 of Damsel to the Demon

1

MERCEDES

The needle pricks my finger for the hundredth time, but I barely notice. My eyes are fixed on the simple white dress spread before me, a canvas of hopes and dreams stitched together over countless nights.

"Just one more..." I mutter, threading the needle through delicate fabric.

To the average bridezilla, the dress isn't much to look at. No fancy lace or shimmering beads. Just a plain white gown, lovingly crafted from scraps I've collected over months. But to me, it's everything.

I smooth my hand over the skirt, picturing how it will look as I walk down the aisle.

Will he smile when he sees me?

My heart flutters at the thought.

A knock at the door startles me from my reverie.

"Mercedes? You in there?"

"Come in, Marta!"

The door creaks open and Marta, the town's eldest resident, shuffles inside. Her eyes widen as she takes in the dress.

"Oh, child. It's beautiful."

I beam with pride. "You really think so? I tried to make it just like you described."

Marta nods, running her gnarled fingers over the fabric. "White as snow, just like in the old days. You've done well, Mercedes."

"I just hope it's enough," I say, biting my lip. "I want everything to be perfect."

Marta chuckles. "Perfect? In this world? You're lucky to have a wedding at all, girl."

She's right, of course. Most humans don't bother with such frivolities anymore. But I can't help myself. The stories Marta's told me of grand celebrations, of love and hope... I want a piece of that, even if it's just for one day.

As Marta helps me into the dress, my mind drifts to Thomas. I remember the day we met, two scrawny kids sneaking off to play in the wheat fields. We'd spend hours chasing each other through the golden stalks, our laughter echoing across the land. Even then, I felt something special with him.

Years passed, and our friendship deepened. Thomas was there when I lost my mother, holding me as I cried and I stood by him when his father was taken for the dark elves' labor camps. Through it all, our bond only grew stronger.

"There," Marta says, smoothing the fabric. "You're ready."

I twirl, watching the skirt flare out. "How do I look?"

Marta's eyes mist over. "Like hope itself, child. Like hope itself."

Another knock interrupts our moment. My heart leaps - I know that steady, firm rap anywhere.

"Come in, Papa!"

The door swings open, and there he stands. My father, tall and broad-shouldered, fills the doorframe. His weathered face breaks into a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes.

"Look at you," he says, voice gruff with emotion. "My little girl, all grown up."

I rush to him, careful not to wrinkle the dress. His arms wrap around me, strong and secure. The familiar scent of pine and leather envelops me, bringing back memories of childhood hunts and late-night stories by the fire.

"You look beautiful, Mercedes," he whispers, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

I step back, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. "Really? You like it?"

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