BLEEDING VELVET

Velda was no longer screaming.

That terrified Almond more than the sound itself.

She stood in the ruins of the dreamscape, body coated in sweat and soot. The once vibrant vision-realm was crumbling—skies cracked open like glass, ground slick with shadows that pulsed like infected veins.

"Velda?" she called out, voice shaky, heart punching her ribs.

Silence answered.

Then a giggle.

Soft. Childlike. Wrong.

Aren spun beside her, sword already drawn, but it flickered—almost translucent. "This isn't his realm anymore," he said. "It's hers."

"Whose?"

Velda stepped out of the black fog.

But it wasn't Velda. Not really.

Her hair floated like threads of smoke. Her eyes—Velda's warm, sunflower eyes—were bottomless pits, oil-slick and swirling with something ancient. A smile sat on her face, stitched too wide, like a doll cracked open by grief.

"You came," she purred.

Almond's throat dried. "Velda...?"

She tilted her head. "He let me bloom. He said if I let go of the pain, I could be beautiful."

Aren stepped forward, but the shadow-thing snapped its fingers and he froze mid-step, locked in place.

"Don't interrupt us, boy," it hissed through Velda's mouth.

Almond gritted her teeth. "Get out of her."

"Oh but she wants me here." That smile deepened, stretching skin unnaturally. "She begged for it. She was tired of crying, tired of aching. I took that from her. Isn't that love?"

"No," Almond said, voice low. "That's possession."

The air thickened like spoiled honey—sweet, dense, and impossible to breathe without choking on the bitterness. Almond's shadow moved across the room like a curse, eyes locked on Aren who stood in the center like prey that had wandered too deep into the wrong forest. His shirt was torn, sweat stuck to his temples, and whatever light remained in his eyes flickered like a dying candle.

"You told me you didn't feel it," Almond said, voice too calm. Too still. "You lied."

She circled him slowly, her boots clicking against the floor like a metronome counting down to something deadly. He didn't flinch. Not yet. But his throat bobbed, and she saw it—fear. Not of her claws or her strength, but of what she meant.

"You thought I wouldn't know?" she continued, fingers trailing the edge of his jaw, cold and slow. "You thought you could touch her and I wouldn't feel it?"

"She's nothing compared to you." Aren's voice was hoarse. "She's a ghost. You're—fire."

Almond smiled, but it was the kind of smile you see before a war breaks loose.

"That fire burns, doesn't it?"

He nodded. Then, for a split second, he looked away. Mistake.

Almond's hand caught his throat, pushing him against the wall. Not hard enough to hurt—no, that would've been too easy. She wanted him to understand what it meant to love her. To be hers. To bleed under her name and still say thank you.

Behind them, the shadows shifted. Something ancient stirred. The magic that clung to Almond wasn't tame tonight—it danced, wild and slick, almost whispering Aren's name. The wall cracked under the weight of her rage.

"I could rip out her name from your memory like a thorn," she whispered. "Would you let me?"

Aren's breath hitched. "I already did."

Almond froze.

"What?"

"I only see you now."

The silence that followed wasn't peace—it was the kind that comes before the sky tears open and the gods start screaming.

A low growl escaped her throat. It wasn't human. It wasn't sane.

But it was satisfied.

"You're finally learning," she said. "It's about time."

Her grip loosened. Aren dropped to his knees, coughing, but didn't run. Didn't beg. He just looked up at her like he'd swallowed every nightmare she ever gave him and said more.

She dragged him to his feet, lips brushing his ear.

"From now on, when you dream...dream of my teeth."

Then she kissed him—rough, biting, punishing. Not for love. For possession.

Because she wasn't going to lose again. Not to fate. Not to Velda. Not to whatever devil thought it was funny to make her vulnerable.

Aren didn't kiss her back at first. But when he did, it wasn't soft. It was an apology. A cry for help. A surrender.

And Almond took it all.

Behind them, something shattered—glass, reality, time—it didn't matter. Velda was coming. The bond between them was growing unstable. But for now, in this stolen moment of rage and lust, Almond claimed what was hers.

One kiss. One breath. One bloody vow.