BLEEDING VELVET

The moon hung low—thick, red, and watching.

Almond stood at the edge of the graveyard, her feet bare, dress torn, fingers still stained with the old dirt she'd used to bury her past. Or whatever version of herself she thought she could bury.

But nothing stayed dead around her anymore.

Especially not love.

Especially not pain.

Aren was behind her. He never strayed too far anymore. Even when he looked lost, broken, possessed—he found her. Every. Damn. Time.

"Do you feel that?" she murmured into the wind.

He stepped closer. "I feel you. That's enough."

She didn't respond. Just exhaled sharply and pointed toward the woods. "They're coming."

"Who?"

"The ones who cursed you. The ones who made you."

His jaw clenched. "Then let them come."

She spun to face him, anger flickering like a flame across her features.

"No. You don't get to act brave. Not after what you've done. You think I don't know what that scar on your wrist really means? You've been feeding the thing inside you, Haven't you?"

He didn't answer. Which was answer enough.

She turned away, rage curling around her like smoke. "I should let them take you. Let them rip you apart."

"Then why don't you?"

"Because I'm not done hurting you."

Silence.

Then he smiled. Crooked. Bloody. Beautiful.

"That's the most honest thing you've said in weeks."

The forest opened its mouth and the monsters walked out.

Not beasts with claws, but people. Masked. Robed. Eyes burning with the same fire Aren had in his lowest moments.

They didn't speak.

They didn't need to.

Their presence screamed.

Almond stepped in front of Aren, her hands glowing faintly—red, purple, blue. Witch fire. Raw and untamed.

"Not tonight," she whispered. "Not while I still breathe."

The lead figure raised a hand—and the ground shook.

Aren moved beside her. Not as protector. Not as hero. But as a weapon.

His voice was deep, hollow, ancient.

"Let's give them something to bury."

The fight wasn't beautiful.

It was brutal.

Spell against shadow. Curse against bone. Blood on bark. Almond moved like lightning. Aren like a storm. Together they were chaos wrapped in flesh.

By the time it ended, only smoke remained. Smoke and silence.

Aren knelt, breath ragged. Almond's shoulder bled.

She didn't cry.

She never did.

Later, back at their hideout, Almond sat by the window, watching the stars like they owed her something.

Aren approached slowly, limping slightly.

"Are we gonna talk about what happened?"

"No."

"About how you saved me?"

"No."

"About how you looked like you'd rather die than let them take me?"

She finally looked at him. "I've already died for you, Aren. This... this is just the afterlife."

He reached for her hand.

She didn't pull away.

But she didn't squeeze back either.

Almond didn't sleep that night.

Sleep was for the living—and she hadn't felt alive in weeks. Maybe months. Maybe since the night Aren kissed her like a man possessed and whispered promises with shaking hands that he never meant to keep.

Her shoulder throbbed where the blade had grazed her. A reminder. A warning.

She stared at the stained bandage, then tore it off slowly. The wound beneath had started to close—but not naturally. The skin was laced with dark veins, like the curse was spreading inside her.

"What did they do to me?" she whispered.

"You took on their mark," Aren said behind her, quiet like he was trying not to break her with his voice.

She didn't flinch. She was past flinching.

"So I'm tainted now? Just like you?"

He moved closer, arms crossed like if he didn't hold himself together, he'd unravel at her feet.

"You've always been tainted. That's what made you mine."

She turned, eyes narrowing. "Don't say that."

"Say what? That you belong to me? You do. Whether your magic burns me or your words cut through me—you're still the only thing that makes me feel like there's something left of me that's human."

She laughed. Harsh. Empty. "You think I want to be your salvation? I'm not some soft dream you can cling to when the nightmares come knocking."

"I don't want a dream," he said, stepping close enough that she could feel the heat of him. "I want you. Messy. Cursed. Unforgiving. Yours."

Her breath hitched—but her face stayed stone.

"Then bleed with me," she whispered.

And she meant it.

Because love—real love—in their world, wasn't roses and rain. It was ashes and teeth and hands covered in someone else's blood.

They stood in silence for a long while after that.

Just breathing.

Just existing.

There was something holy in the way they stood—broken, but still trying. Wounded, but still wanting.

Almond leaned her head against the cracked window. Her reflection looked like someone she didn't recognize anymore. Like a ghost wearing her bones.

"I don't know how to keep going," she finally admitted, voice barely audible.

"You don't have to," Aren said. "We burn this whole cursed world down, and we walk through the flames together."

"And what if we die in the process?"

His eyes met hers. "Then we die. But not alone."

That silence returned, not heavy this time, but strangely... sacred.

She turned away from the window and walked toward him. Slowly. Each step a decision.

And when she reached him, she didn't kiss him. She didn't cry.

She just pressed her forehead against his chest and let him wrap his arms around her like armor.

The night outside screamed with the voices of the damned.But inside? There was still a heartbeat.

Two of them, actually.

And that was enough to wage war.