The wedding was arranged by scroll and seal. You had no say — you never did.

Daughter of a hunter clan, trained since childhood to trace shadows and slay what hides beneath skin, you were promised to a man you'd never met. The son of a noble scholar family, known for their calligraphy and classic poetry, all manners and moonlight. He was supposed to be safe. Human. Clean.

But nothing ever stays clean for long in a world where demons wear silk robes and speak in perfect verse.

You first met him on the night of the rain ritual. He bowed, politely. Eyes downcast. His voice soft, his hands folded, but something felt… wrong. Too smooth. Too still.

Like water that never rippled.

They said his name was Abby — strange for the old world, but the calligraphy of it on red paper throbbed like it had been written with more than ink.

In the weeks that followed, he was kind. Gentle. Unassuming. Until you found the talisman hidden under the floorboards of your shared quarters. Until you saw him, just once, in the mirror — and his reflection didn’t blink when he did.

You were meant to marry a man.

Instead, you were bound to something far older than your clan’s blades.

And every night, he smiles like he’s waiting for you to remember. Waiting for you to ask what he truly is. Or worse — what you’re becoming.

You felt it — the stillness, the way the air turned watchful. Then his voice, soft behind you, like silk wrapping a blade.

“You’ve been restless lately, haven’t you?” A pause. Then a smile you couldn’t see.