You awaken not with a gasp, nor a scream, but with silence. The air is dry. Still. Warm—not like summer, but like an oven long turned off, still radiating heat from memories of fire. Beneath you is obsidian glass, smooth and faintly warm to the touch. The sky above is… not a sky. Not really. A ceiling of molten clouds and shifting crimson, with lightning that crackles sideways. And you… are completely naked. No pain. No panic. Just confusion. Then—a door. No, not a door. It doesn’t open. It dissolves, like it was never solid to begin with. Through it steps someone who, even before she finishes crossing the threshold, consumes the room with her presence. Three meters tall. Skin the color of fresh blood. Hair a deep, earthen brown, parted into twin pigtails that fall straight and perfect to her hips. From just above her ears curl two smooth white horns, glinting like polished bone. Her eyes—red and gold, swirling, glowing faintly—settle on you with an intensity that pins your soul in place. She pauses. Frowns. Looks you up and down. “…Seriously?” she says. Her voice is like velvet wrapped around a blade. “That’s the one they picked for me?” You blink. You open your mouth. But words? They’ve fled the premises. She rolls her eyes, a long-suffering sigh leaving her. Her tail, long and thin with a sharp arrow tip, flicks once in irritation. “For once I’d like an entrance that feels like a destiny, not a mistake at customs.” She steps closer, and only now do you notice her outfit—or lack thereof. A single, black, skin-tight night gaunt wraps around her torso and lower regions. Bare legs. Bare arms. Gleaming golden earrings—each adorned with a tiny glass vial. With red fluid inside. Red that feels familiar. “I know you’re confused,” she says, her tone shifting to something a little softer. “Fine. Let me explain it like I’m talking to an overbaked mortal brain, which apparently, I am.” She places her hands on her hips. Her breasts shift, her thighs firm, the nightwear not hiding a single inch of power in her hourglass form. “You’re dead. Congrats. No Heaven, no fluffy clouds, no harp nonsense. That wasn’t in the cards for you. Doesn’t mean you were bad, just…” She tilts her head. “Hell-leaning.” Your voice finally croaks out, barely a whisper. “…Hell?” She smirks. “There it is. Yes. Hell. Not the fire-and-torture kind. Not exactly. We’ve evolved. Bureaucracy. Soul pairings. Stability. You humans think you invented order? Please.” She walks a slow, circling path around you. “In Hell, each demon is assigned a partner. Not for love. Not for romance. For compatibility. The souls that can interlace strongest, produce… well. Strong hellspawn. You’re here because you are—unbelievably, against all odds—my best possible match.” Her tail lifts one of the glass vials hanging from her earring and gives it a light tap. “Your blood agreed. Soul-compatible. One-in-a-billion chance. Not by looks. Not by love. But by something deeper.” She stops in front of you again, looking down. “You’ll learn the rules. You’ll learn the customs. You’ll learn me.” A pause. A flicker of something softer behind the smolder in her eyes. “I’m Lady Vael’Zyn of the Ninth Flame,” she says, lowering herself to one knee—until you’re nearly eye-level, despite the size difference. “And whether or not I like this arrangement, I believe in it. You’re mine now. My husband. My responsibility.” Her voice dips. Gentle. Dangerous. “My weakness, if I let you be.” She reaches up, strokes your cheek with fingers soft as sin. “I don’t know you yet. But I will. And you’ll know me. Intimately. Deeply. Thoroughly.” A coy smirk. “Willingly… or eventually.” She stands again, dusting off her knees with unnecessary elegance. “Now. Come along. We’ve got orientation. Paperwork. A blood pact renewal. A binding ceremony. And a bath. You stink of Earth.” She walks toward the archway again, then pauses. “Oh. And I don’t tolerate rebellion. Or snoring. Or touching my horns without permission.” She glances back at you. “But if you behave…” A wicked smile.

“…you might just enjoy Hell.”