Destiny Of Darkness

The interior was a delightful surprise for Grace—a warm embrace that enveloped her from the moment she stepped over the threshold. Gone was the cold, sterile aesthetic she’d anticipated. Instead, warm light spilled from hidden fixtures, casting a gentle glow across every surface and illuminating the rich tapestries woven with intricate patterns and vibrant colors. The paintings on the walls weren’t the mass-produced prints typically found in doctor’s offices; these were genuine works of art, bursting with life and emotion.

The furniture spoke of comfort and relaxation—plush armchairs and divans beckoned her, promising respite from the outside world. Just looking at them, made the pressure of the day begin to melt away. Then, her gaze fell upon the bookcases, overflowing and stacked high with volumes ranging from leather-bound classics to dog-eared paperbacks. In that moment, surrounded by warmth, a single thought resonated within Grace: it felt… like home. It was a sanctuary.

“Welcome to our humble abode,” said Ezra, a hint of amusement lacing his voice. He gestured toward the man standing just inside the door of the huge entryway. He was an older gentleman, dressed in black, his face was stern he just stared straight ahead. “This is Pip. Pip, this is Grace; she is now the lady of the house.”

“Ma’am,” Pip said, nodding at Grace. “Whatever you need, Miss Grace, all you must do is ask me or anyone on the household staff. I’ll take your bags to your room. Please, make yourself comfortable.”

“Thank you, Pip,” Grace replied politely, still in awe of her surroundings. She watched, bewildered, as Pip zipped away with her suitcase. She felt like she was reeling from the whirlwind of the past few hours—leaving her home, meeting Ezra, and hearing his astonishing confession that they were soulmates. Trusting him felt like stepping off a cliff, yet a strange, undeniable pull kept her rooted to his side.

“Ezra,” she began, her voice barely a whisper, “I still don’t understand. I have so many questions. Why me? Why am I here? You said our destinies…” she trailed off.

“Let us sit first,” he said, leading her to a large leather sofa in front of the crackling fireplace. “Destinies are complicated things—intertwined threads woven together by forces beyond our comprehension. But yes, our paths are meant to converge. I know it’s a lot to take in.” He poured her a glass of ruby liquid that swirled enticingly in the crystal. “Tell me about yourself, Grace. I know your name and favorite flowers, but I want to know all about you.”

“Why would you want to hear about me? I’m nobody, I am nothing. No one cares about me. I’m an ugly old frump who no one loves—not even my husband, who swore he loved me. I’m going to be a divorced, ugly woman with no future,” she said, setting the glass of wine on the coffee table, fighting back tears, and dropping her head to look at her hands resting in her lap.

Ezra leaned forward, raising an eyebrow. He stood and joined her on the sofa, gently taking her hand. His touch was surprisingly warm, almost electric. “Stop, Grace. You are not ugly. I don’t want to hear you say that again.” His gaze was intense. “Talk to me. Perhaps I can help lighten the load.”

Grace hesitated. This was crazy—completely and utterly insane. But something about the warmth in his eyes compelled her to speak. She began to unravel the story of her life—a life marred by loneliness and pain. She recounted her parents who did not love her and viewed her as a burden, the cruel taunts of classmates, the dismissive glares of coworkers who saw her only as a gopher, and the constant feeling of being invisible and worthless. Then, she described her soul-crushing marriage, the physical pain, the emotional manipulation, and the sense of being owned and broken. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring the edges of the luxurious room.

Ezra quietly listened, as Grace softly told her story. His expression was unreadable but compassionate. He didn’t interrupt or offer simplistic platitudes; he merely listened. After what felt to Grace like hours, she fell silent, the only sound being the crackling fire. Exhausted, she realized she had poured her entire soul out to a stranger. “I… I don’t know why I told you all that.”

Wrapping his arm around her shoulder, he gently grasped her chin, turning her face to meet his gaze. “Because you needed to, and because I wanted to hear it.” His eyes held a strange intensity. “I despise the thought of you being treated that way, Grace. You deserve so much more than this. You deserve a life filled with passion, a world that recognizes your brilliance. You did not deserve any of that. You deserve kindness, respect, and most of all, a love that burns bright.”

“Love…” she scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “That’s a fairy tale for other people, Ezra. Not for someone like me.”

“Don’t say that.” He took her hand, his grip firm but reassuring. “You are worthy of love, Grace. You are far more powerful than you realize.”

“It’s not that simple,” she whispered, pulling her hand away.

“Maybe not,” he paused, taking a deep breath. “But Grace,” Ezra said, his voice steady and sincere, “you, my love, are more than the sum of your past.”

Grace was flustered by his words. He made her want to believe in all his words and promises, but she still doubted herself.

"Grace, there’s something I need to tell you. Something that might be difficult to believe." He began, his voice suddenly laced with unsettling gravity, He met her gaze, his eyes suddenly intense, almost burning. "I am a demon."

Grace scoffed, a disbelieving laugh escaping her lips staring at him, her mind struggling to process the words. "You're… joking, right?".

He just stared at her, a flicker of something dark and painful in his eyes. He closed his eyes, and a visible shift occurred. Then, the change began. His skin seemed to ripple, shadows deepened around him, his skin darkened, his features sharpened, twisted horns erupted from his forehead, and leathery wings unfurled from his back, casting flickering shadows across the room. And his eyes blazed with an unholy light. The air crackled with energy, the temperature rising noticeably. He was terrifying, magnificent, and undeniably… demonic. This was no longer the Ezra she knew. It was a creature of nightmares, a being of pure terror.

Grace stumbled back; a strangled scream caught in her throat. Terror coiled deep in her stomach, constricting her breath. Her blood ran cold as she stared at the monstrous figure before her. "Stay away from me!" she cried, her voice trembling.

Just as quickly as it had begun, the transformation reversed. The horns receded, the wings vanished, and the demonic light faded from his eyes. Ezra stood before her again, pale and trembling, the remnants of his demonic visage clinging to the air like a bad dream. He looked at Grace, his expression a mixture of fear and desperation. He saw her fear and immediately reverted to his human form. "Grace! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you." He reached for her, but she flinched away. "Please, just listen. I know it's a lot to take in, but it's the truth.”

Grace trembled, backing away even as Ezra stood before her, no longer the monstrous creature that had materialized before her moments ago. He was human again, but the terror lingered, a cold knot in her stomach refusing to unravel. "How... how did you do that?" she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.

Ezra's eyes burned into Grace's, a stark contrast to the gentle curiosity in her own eyes. "I'm not like the garden-variety demons you might imagine," he began, his voice rumbled low as it vibrated through the air. "I am a descendant of The Chaos God of Wrath, of Blood and Skulls called Khorne, Albeit... a somewhat diluted one. My lineage grants me certain... inclinations." He hesitated, a flicker of something akin to shame crossing his features. "Inclinations towards violence, towards the thrill of the fight. To cause Chaos. It’s in my blood, a constant hum I have to keep suppressed."

He ran a hand through his hair. "As for the transformation... It's not a pretty sight. When provoked, when my control slips, the Khornate influence takes over. My features become more bestial, my strength increases tenfold, and sometimes rational thoughts tend to take a backseat to raw, unbridled rage. Think larger, more monstrous, and significantly less pleasant company. The horns are a dead giveaway, of course." He offered a wry, self-deprecating smile. "Think of it as an unfortunate case of demonic puberty, only fueled by the collective anger of an ancient god."

Grace leaned forward, her brow furrowed with disbelief and genuine curiosity. "So, you're saying... you're descended from Khorne? The Chaos god?" Ezra shifted uncomfortably but met her gaze. "It's... complicated. My lineage is tied to him, yes, but it's not like I'm running around slaughtering people for fun." His words hung in the air, heavy with the implications of his heritage. He watched her closely, gauging her reaction.

Before Grace could fully process this revelation, Ezra's gaze softened, a gentle sadness washing over his features as he dropped another bombshell. "And you, Grace, you're a witch, It's in your blood. You are descended from an extremely, powerful line of witches”

He saw the surprise bloom on her face, followed by a flicker of fear.

Grace scoffed, a hysterical edge to her laughter. "A witch? Are you insane? "What? No, that's impossible. I'm just...me." He was delusional, and the thought of sharing any kind of bond, magical or otherwise, with the creature she had witnessed filled her with renewed horror. She gripped her arms, trying to ward off the chilling reality he was trying to force upon her, clinging to the normalcy she knew, the life she thought she had.

Ezra shook his head. "You're not. It's why I'm so drawn to you. It's in your blood, in your aura, in the very air that crackles around you. You just haven't tapped into it yet." The weight of his words settled upon her, a heavy cloak of newfound truth. She looked down at her hands as if expecting them to start glowing with light.

"Think, Grace, have you ever experienced a strong connection to nature, a sense of "knowing" things without being told, have you ever experienced hunches that come true, sensed the emotions of others strongly, or had vivid dreams or premonitions? These are all signs of being a witch.” He asked searching her face.

His words resonated with her, stirring long-forgotten feelings. The flashes of inexplicable knowledge, the empathy that often overwhelmed her, the strange comfort she found in the woods. She'd always dismissed them as quirks, eccentricities. Grace got up and walked to the large window that overlooked the gardens. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken questions and dawning realizations.

Finally, Grace turned around, looking at Ezra. "Okay," she said slowly, cautiously. "Assuming this is all true...why do you think we're soulmates?” She needed to understand the reasoning behind his unwavering belief in their shared destiny, to know if it was driven by something more than just the chaotic currents of their heritage. The answer, she realized, would determine everything.

"We're bound by magic, our souls intertwined. I felt it the moment I saw you." He said as he walked to Grace taking her hands in his. "You are a witch, Grace. And we are destined to be together. Together, we can become more powerful than you can imagine."

The thought both terrified and intrigued her. "Powerful? What would I do with power?" She asked with curiosity.

Ezra's eyes gleamed. "Revenge, Grace. You could have revenge. On your ex-husband, on all those who have ever belittled you, abused you, made you feel small. You could make them pay for the pain they inflicted."

The lure of retribution was intoxicating. The desire to finally stand up for herself, to make them understand the depth of her suffering, burned within her. But how? "I don't know anything about magic. I don't know how to… to do anything."

"Your powers are dormant, Grace. They need to be awakened. Once they are, the knowledge will come. It's all within you."

"This is all so overwhelming, My whole life has been upended in less than 24 hours, my husband left me for a coworker and threw me out of our home, I lost my job, I met a total stranger, who told me we are soulmates, and he even knew my name. You tell me we are destined for greatness our destinies intertwined. You promise me everything I want in this world, against all reason I go with you and come here to this palace, then you tell me you're a demon and I am a witch....This is just too much to take in, I don't know what to think, I am so confused." She says as she stares out the window, wishing that the night sky could just swallow her whole.

"I didn't mean to overwhelm you, but I don't want to keep anything from you. You need to know the truth and there is so much more that I want you and need you to know." Ezra sighed, as he walked to stand beside her at the window. Grace wrapped her arms around herself as he silently watched her, wondering if he did the right thing by telling her as much as he had.

"You need to rest, we can talk tomorrow," Ezra said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her.

She wanted to ask more questions. But exhaustion was taking over. He took her hand, warm and firm, and led her toward the staircase in the foyer. They did not speak as they ascended the stairs, each creak of the aged wood a mournful sigh. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, punctuated only by the rhythmic thud of their footsteps. The second-floor hallway was dimly lit, shadows clinging to the ornate carvings on the walls. They walked down the corridor, past portraits of stern-faced ancestors and antique sconces that cast flickering pools of light. Finally, they stopped before a huge wooden door, its surface etched with intricate floral designs.

Ezra placed his hand on the cool metal of the doorknob and turned the knob and pushed the door open. Grace gasped. The room was a symphony of conflicting emotions. It was romantic, Victorian in its ornate detailing, yet undeniably Gothic in its brooding grandeur. Shades of gold and caramel painted the walls, softened by the warm glow of several strategically placed lamps.

A massive four-poster bed dominated the space, draped in heavy velvet curtains the color of burnt caramel. The posts were intricately carved with twisting vines and blossoming roses, a delicate contrast to their imposing size. A wooden armoire, dark and imposing, stood sentinel against one wall, its mirrored surface reflecting the room's hazy glow. The air was thick with the scent of lavender and old wood, a strangely soothing combination. A room that both beckoned her in and warned her away.

Ezra stepped aside; his gaze fixed on her. "Rest, Grace. I'll be in the room across the hall, should you need anything.” He gestured weakly to the bed. "This room...Is our room but I won't share it with you until you are ready." She nodded, unable to find her voice. The weight of exhaustion pressed down on her, a suffocating blanket. She needed to lie down, to close her eyes to try and process everything she had learned.

"How do I awaken my powers?" she asked her voice barely a whisper.

Ezra watched her for a moment, his expression unreadable in the dim light. " Tomorrow Grace, we can discuss it tomorrow. There is a nightgown on the bed. Good night, Grace, sleep well love." he said quietly. Then, with a soft sigh, he retreated, closing the heavy wooden door behind him.

Grace stood alone, the silence within the room amplified by the echoing click of the latch. She walked slowly toward the bed, her fingers trailing across the smooth fabric of the velvet curtains. A strange sense of peace settled over her, she pulled back the curtains and found a nightgown crafted from the most delicate, luminous white silk. The neckline is a soft, plunging V-neck, edged with delicate, antique-inspired lace, with a floral pattern of lilies. Intricately and exquisitely detailed This lace trim extended to the barely-there cap sleeves, adding a touch of romance. The hem of the nightgown embellished a wider band of the same beautiful lace. Grace can't help but think that it looks like something a bride would wear on her wedding night. Shedding her clothes she slips the luxurious fabric over her head, it flows like liquid moonlight whispering against her skin as the silk pools around her feet, the lace creates a dreamy, ethereal effect. Reaching for the covers pulling them back, revealing soft, cream-colored sheets. As she sank into the plush mattress, the scent of lavender enveloped her, a gentle lullaby. She lay her head down, her eyes closing. Tomorrow, she will find the answers she needs. Tomorrow, she will be strong enough to face the truth. But for tonight, she would simply rest.