My Wives are Beautiful Demons

Vergil and Ada walked under the veil of the Parisian night, where the streetlights seemed reluctant to shine too brightly, as if respecting the secrets the couple carried.

Ahead of them, squeezed between two old buildings like forgotten sins, was the entrance to something that did not entirely belong to the mortal world.

"Clair Obscur."

It did not stand out to the ordinary eye.

There were no shop windows, no neon signs trying to seduce the unwary.

Just a black mahogany door, with carvings as discreet as they were ancient—they seemed merely ornamental to those who did not know how to see. But to the right eyes... every line pulsed with a cursed elegance.

The door opened by itself, exuding an aroma of forbidden incense and a subtle, intimate sound, like the whisper of a secret confessed in one's ear.

Vergil entered first.

An Egyptian linen shirt, white and partially unbuttoned as if to challenge decorum just enough.

Tight black pants, tailored with almost cruel precision.

Patent leather boots with obsidian soles that left no footprints—only silence.

And sunglasses with infernal platinum frames, which he slowly removed as he crossed the threshold, revealing eyes that changed color like a sky about to storm.

Behind him came Ada, his wife.

The contrast between the two was fascinating:

She wore a simple black dress with a denim jacket studded with patches — some of which whispered in forgotten languages when no one was looking. A gift from Raphaeline, of course. Her gaze was lively, curious, sharp as a dagger dipped in acid charm. The kind of woman who would make you laugh at a joke only to knock you down with the next sentence.

She had discovered the place through Katharina, who, like all truly dangerous creatures, never gave hints without intention.

The attendant appeared like an elegant shadow:

Pale, slender, wearing a suit made of broken promises and silk stolen from the dreams of the righteous.

She bowed before them as if her vertebrae were made of lace and regrets.

"My lord... My lady..." he said, with a voice that smoked happy memories and drank expensive regrets. "Welcome to Clair Obscur. Your tastes will be treated with absolute reverence."

Vergil stared at him from behind his lenses, then slowly removed his glasses, as if removing a social mask, revealing eyes that could both judge and redeem.

"Of course it will be," he murmured with a crooked, lazy smile. "I have a banquet to attend. And I need something that makes the other kings look like... economists."

Ada let out a short, nasal laugh, as if she couldn't decide between amusement and contempt.

"Vergil, what are you doing?"

He turned slowly toward her, his eyes still smiling.

"Testing a little something..."

"Testing?" She raised an eyebrow, skeptical, like someone who had heard too many excuses and was amused by each one.

"My level of theatricality. I want to see if I can irritate even the tapestries in the hall."

Ada crossed her arms and blinked slowly.

"Mission almost accomplished. I heard one of the curtains sigh in despair."

Vergil laughed, and for a moment, the store seemed to breathe with them—as if it were alive, and liked what it saw.

The clerk remained motionless, but an almost imperceptible glimmer of reverence crossed his gaze. He knew who he was dealing with. And more importantly, he knew he would be remembered—for better or worse—for what he offered at that moment.

The clerk guided them to a private room—walls covered with mirrors that reflected not people, but intentions. The racks moved on their own, displaying suits that seemed to whisper to each other, silently judging each choice.

Vergil ran his fingers over a deep black fabric that absorbed even the ambient light.

"Too much 'Lord of Death'. I want something more like 'reluctant heir who still destroys worlds with a smile'."

'Then not this one.' Ada picked up another suit, pearly graphite, with subtle details in enchanted silver. 'This one screams 'dangerous but civilized'. And it matches the tone of your sarcasm."

Vergil spun on his heels, picking up the suit and throwing it over his shoulder with an exaggerated flourish.

"You understand me, Ada. That's why I keep you around. And also because you know how to stop me from buying suits with overly dramatic collars."

She pushed him gently toward the dressing room.

Inside the dressing room—a space that seemed to exist outside of time, with curtains that whispered secrets and a mirror that only showed who you were inside—Vergil changed clothes with choreographed movements, as if even undressing were a demonic dance.

He came out and spun around once.

"Well?" he asked, with a smile that could cause civil wars.

Ada crossed her arms, pretending to analyze him skeptically. "Almost perfect. All that's missing is a black rose in your lapel. Something tragic. Something poetic."

"Hmm. I love it."

The elf, who until then had been trying not to faint, quickly summoned an enchanted black rose, cut from Lilith's personal garden, and pinned it to Vergil's lapel.

Perfect.

But then Vergil turned, facing Ada with a serious expression. "Your turn."

She raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"You're going to Walpurgis with me. And no one enters the Banquet of the Demon Kings dressed like they just stepped out of an alternative jazz bar."

"It's a jacket with personality!"

"It's a jacket with sauce stains. Pick a dress. Or... let me choose."

Ada sighed dramatically. "Fine. But nothing with bat wings sewn on, or that glows in the dark, understand?"

Vergil smiled. "You hurt my feelings."

The mirrors on the other walls lit up as mannequins glided around her, displaying dresses that ranged from ethereal to indecently elegant.

Vergil pulled out a dark burgundy, almost black dress with velvet trim and a teardrop neckline.

"This one. This one says, 'I can kill you with a glance, or with a spell of eternal sleep. But only if you deserve it.'"

"Okay... that's frighteningly specific, but... I like it," she admitted, picking up the dress.

As she disappeared into the fitting room, Vergil leaned back on an enchanted leather sofa that murmured soft compliments to its occupant.

"I am the most stylish antichrist since the original Lucifer," he murmured, satisfied.

When Ada came out, the store fell silent. Even the fabrics seemed to sigh.

The dress fit perfectly, accentuating her silhouette with a mixture of elegance and restrained power. Her eyes met Vergil's, and for a second, even he didn't have a joke ready.

"You... are perfect."

Ada rolled her eyes. "Don't exaggerate."

"It's not an exaggeration. It's a statement of fact," he replied in a low voice.

The elf almost fell to his knees. "Allow me... to select the appropriate accessories."

Vergil stood up, extending his arm to her. "Now we're ready for Walpurgis. Two unlikely beings, beautifully dressed, ready to pretend they're not an existential threat to each other."

"Like good infernal aristocrats."

"Exactly."