Page 195 of Crowned In Venom

Tonight, it is ours.

A sacred union between light and shadow, human and dark elf. Something new. Something eternal.

The Ghost stands before us, draped in ceremonial robes of midnight and silver, a hood casting his face in shadows. He is the keeper of ancient rites, the one who will weave our souls together for eternity.

"Are you certain?" he asks, his voice calm but edged with something unreadable. "Once this bond is made, it cannot be undone—not by time, not by death."

I do not hesitate.

"I have never been more certain of anything."

Anya’s fingers tighten around mine. When I turn to her, my breath catches.

She is beautiful.

Draped in white, her gown is woven from silk and whispers, flowing like water against her skin. Tiny silver beads glisten along the hem, catching the candlelight like fallen stars. A delicate braid crowns her auburn hair, woven with the smallest threads of silver—a tradition of my people, marking those bound for eternity.

But the glow in her eyes is what undoes me.

She loves me.

And I have never known anything more powerful than that.

"And you?" The Ghost turns to Anya, his voice quiet. "Do you give yourself freely?"

She exhales softly, her fingers brushing against my cheek.

"Always," she whispers.

The Ghost nods, stepping closer. From beneath his robes, he draws a small, curved blade—ceremonial, ancient.

"Then we begin."

He kneels, dipping the blade into the bowl of sacred oil, whispering incantations in a language older than time. The flames of the temple torches flicker violently, as if the world itself holds its breath.

"This bond is beyond flesh," he chants, his voice a low, melodic hum that seeps into my bones. "Beyond blood. It is the merging of two souls, entwined as one. A vow of eternity, unbroken even by death."

I take the blade first.

Without hesitation, I drag it across my palm, a clean, sharp slice.

Dark crimson beads along my skin, glistening in the torchlight.

Anya watches, her expression unflinching. Steady. Fierce. Mine.

I offer her the blade.

She takes it, pressing the cool steel against her own palm, never looking away.

The moment the first drop of her blood spills, something ancient awakens.

The temple groans, the air tightening with power.

The Ghost steps forward, taking our hands and pressing our bleeding palms together. **The moment our blood mingles, magic ignites between us—**a pulse of something so deep, so visceral, I shudder.

Anya gasps, her lips parting as the bond latches on.

"From this day until the last," the Ghost intones, his voice like thunder in the dark. "Your lives are bound. Your souls entwined. Your fates sealed in fire and shadow, in love and eternity."

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