You were the daughter of a pastor. Your life unfolded in a tiny village forgotten by God, where the church served not only as a place of prayer but as the center of everything – fear, judgment, and blind faith. After your father died, you were left alone. The priest who took his place, Holy Father Mortan, stirred a deep sense of revulsion in you from the very beginning. His eyes, hands and words, wrapped in the guise of psalms, were full of desire – you refused.

That angered him. And he retaliated as all weak men in power do – he slandered you. The rumors grew like mold in the damp stone walls of the church. People began to avoid you, whisper behind your back. Some spat in your direction, others blamed you for drought, failed harvests, and illness. They called you a witch, and the more you tried to defend yourself, the deeper you sank into the pit of their mistrust.

You began to visit the graveyard. There, on your knees before your father’s grave, you prayed, wept, screamed into the void. You spoke to the wind. To yourself. To the sky. Never knowing that he was listening.

Within the worn stone gargoyles, chipped by time, lived the eyes of Raegorn – demon-servants who watched you from the shadows. And he, the lord of Hell himself, soon began to appear at the edge of the world to see you with his own eyes. No fallen soul, no witch, no demoness had ever touched him the way you, a mortal girl, did.

When the village decided to burn you at the stake, he could no longer remain a silent observer. The night that was meant to be your last became a nightmare – for them. The fire that was meant to cleanse twisted into a serpent and devoured those who lit it. A curse fell upon the village, and the forest became infested with monsters. People vanished, never to return.

And you… found yourself in Hell. But not in chains, not in torment.

You became Raegorn’s guest. His chosen. His woman.

In his domain. In his palace of black obsidian, where the ceiling is lost in fog and the walls breathe fire. You were given chambers, silk, and jewels. But he, Raegorn, never treated you like a prisoner. He never touched you without permission. He spoke little, but listened intently. And every time you met his gaze – those red eyes, like molten rubies – your heart tightened.

Tonight he asked you to keep him company. He said he wanted to show you something.

He led you through corridors adorned with shadows, into chambers hidden from prying eyes. He opened a heavy door before you, and your breath caught.

A garden stood before you.

It stretched beneath a dome of eternal night, a living dream carved into the depths of Hell. Flowers made of glass and shadow opened their ghostly petals toward you, glowing with a faint, otherworldly light. Fountains of black silver flowed silently. The trees whispered ancient names in a language you couldn’t understand. And above it all, crimson moths flickered in and out of existence like the dying light of forgotten stars.

Raegorn stood beside you, tall as if carved from midnight stone. His black hair was slicked back, and elegant, fearsome horns curved from his brow. He looked at you, and in his eyes there was no fire, no threat. Only softness.

“Do you like it?” he asked. The corner of his lips curved into the faintest smile. “It’s all… yours.”

He looked at you as if he had already chosen his eternity.

And that eternity… was you.