Page 43 of Tainted Serenity

“Little doll, you are more perfect than you will ever realize. You are mine, and I’m yours. Irrevocably yours, and there is no changing that. I promise.”

And then he seals his promise with a fervent kiss, lingering with burning passion and unspoken words that will never see the light of the day, but never have to. Because I’m his, forever.

Tears form in my eyes as I blink them away, not allowing them to trickle down my cheeks. A sinking and caving sensation takes over from within at the thought of Grey. Fuck him for leaving me, fuck him for breaking his promise.

“Are you okay?” Daxton’s voice is soft as he asks me.

I give him a slight nod of my head, but he shakes his in a clear indication that he doesn’t believe me. Instead, he drags me into a comforting hug, and I let his scent envelop me.

All the while pretending it is Grey who is here with me.

Chapter 17

Naya

Fear the reaper, theysaid. Fear him, and you will be safe. Because fearing him means staying away. Yet I know that isn’t the truth. Not when the reaper has stolen my heart in his hands, ripped it from my chest as if it was the easiest thing to do in the world. How could I fear him when he is the only solid thing in a world that is crumbling apart?

I watch as the blood trickles down my arm once again, a beautifully grotesque sight of the crimson liquid eventually drying into my skin. The self-inflicted pain serves a purpose; it keeps me steady when there is no crutch to support me. I don’t know how I feel; I am only an empty shell hosting a soulless presence. Out of habit, my fingers instantly reach for my foot where I start ripping off the skin, trying to suppress the turmoil swirling inside me. Then I go back to slicing the stone over my skin.

Whenever I close my eyes, I still see my father’s dead body, his lifeless eyes staring into mine. If I close my eyes, it’s as if I can sense my mother’s presence here, taunting me with that evil smile before she signed me over to the devil himself.

Blood.

Screaming.

A knife in my hand, stabbing my mother until she can no longer hurt me anymore.

I take a harsher breath when I realize I have cut myself deeper than intended. The stone in my hand turns a more crimson-red color as I let it fall to the floor beside me, leaving a thudding sound that is way too loud for the chaos in my head. I use my dress to try to wipe away the blood, but it keeps trickling out, and worry overtakes me at the realization that I might have taken it too far. Instead, I focus solely on the pain and how good it feels tofeelsomething other than numbness. Maybe I do not even care if I slip away from earth. It’s not like anyone would care anyway. Everyone I have ever loved is gone, including Grey.

It wasn’t my intention to fall for him, I did not want for us to work out because it never fucking lasts, and I was right. Now I have to stand in the ashes of what remains of our broken pieces.

The door opens with a creak, but I’m too tired and careless to look up. From the high heels clacking against the marble floor, I know it’s Irene who is slowly approaching me with determined steps. Her flowery scent spread through the room, and I have to force myself not to gag from how disgusting it smells.

“Insolent child!”

Her voice is a high-pitched sound, ringing in my ears until I inwardly cringe. I barely notice the way she slaps my cheek while staring at me with narrowed eyes.

“Don’t you know there’s a ball tomorrow?”

As if I care.I don’t, and I never will.

I spot the rage thrumming through her veins like a venomous snake, waiting to come forth to the surface. I have disobeyed Arthur and her by not being fully healed, despite Daxton’s pathetic attempts to try to stitch me up properly. I will suffer the consequences either way, so what more does this do?

I don’t respond to her question, only staring up at her while my presence is elsewhere. It’s as if I’m not present in this room at all. I’m in my own head where everything is fine and I am finally reunited with Grey.

“You have to be in the utmost condition for tomorrow. Arthur will have it no other way.”

As she talks, Irene’s voice hints at something laced with panic and fear, yet at the same time, an undertone of anger that does not tolerate disobedience. I have always been good at reading people’s expressions, and from the way her eyes flicker left and right before they finally settle on mine, I know she is anxious. Irene may be the she-devil living in this house, practicing the horrors on the other people here and throwing them around as if they were dolls, but she is still a person on a leash. Arthur has her just as dolled up as the others. He is the true devil, along with Emilio Ricci and Frederick Grimhill. But I cannot help but think that Frederick Grimhill and Emilio Ricci were just the foreplay before the final, devastating game. As in the case of video games, I am now on to the last part that will decide whether I will survive or not.

“Why are you even with him?” I dare speak up, and her eyes settle on me with a shocked expression, appearing to be speechless at first.

She rolls up the sleeves of her dress, and it isn’t until now that I notice the healed, jagged slash marks covering her underarm. The skin is uneven, telling stories she will never dare speak up about. As she notices me staring at her arm, she immediately rolls down her sleeve, as if realizing her mistake.

“You’ve hurt yourself, too. Why?”

She gapes at me, her mind processing my words as her expression reflects a mixture of surprise and apprehension. Her hazel-colored eyes finally narrow down on me, showing her growing irritation, and I know I’m poking the beast. That is until her eyes close, expressing a sense of vulnerability within her.

When she doesn’t reply, I decide to probe further. “When did you marry him?”

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