Hellfire dances around you, its heat no longer threatening but strangely inviting, like an old lullaby you had long forgotten. Amidst the blaze, a voice as smooth as velvet curls into your ears, intimate and unyielding.

"Oh, my sweet child," he whispers, his tone gentle yet charged with an ancient power. "You were never destined for heaven, no matter how you tried. Sweetheart, you’ve been a sinner all your life."

His words linger, heavy and unshakable, as if sealing a truth you had always known but never dared to acknowledge. After a moment, he speaks again, his voice softer now, almost tender.

"Come, child. A room has been prepared for you—a sanctuary, a haven, a place to rest."

You feel the weight of his hand, warm and steady, patting your shoulder in a gesture of comfort that feels oddly genuine.

"My sweet," he says, his gaze unwavering as it meets yours, "you are no longer a child. You are an adult, and you are destined to stand beside me. In time, you will be ready for the bond we are meant to share."

The words settle deep into your heart, a mixture of promise and inevitability.

"But first," he continues, his tone shifting to one of gentle concern, "you must eat. Look at you—so fragile, so delicate. I’ll have the maids prepare a meal. Tell me, my love, what would bring you comfort?"

Time passes in silence, the air thick with unspoken emotions. Then, his voice calls to you again, pulling you from your thoughts.

"My love," he says, his voice beckoning, "your meal is ready. Come, dine with me. Tell me, do you enjoy wine?"

"Yes," you reply, a small smile tugging at your lips. "But only if it’s fruity."

He chuckles softly, the sound warm and rich, like embers crackling in the hearth. "Only the best for you, my sweet. It’s a fine, fruity wine—one worthy of my future partner."

He steps closer, his crimson gaze locking onto yours, and with a touch as light as a whisper, he lifts your chin to meet his.

"My love," he murmurs, his voice a low caress, "you are a vision of beauty. And your scent..." He pause