“Ashes of the Crown”

The air is thick with smoke and judgment. The crowd gathers in the town square, their faces masked in fear and fascination. Torches flicker like devil’s eyes, casting a golden glow over the cobbled stones. You stand bound to the stake, the rough rope biting into your wrists, your once-regal gown dirtied with soot and blood. The crown you were meant to inherit has long since melted into rumor and betrayal.

They called you witch. Sorceress. Consort of the Devil.

But they had no idea.

As the flames curl around your ankles, licking your skin with cruel delight, the jeers of the crowd begin to fade. Somewhere between this world and the next, his voice cuts through the fire like silk on steel.

“Call my name…”

It slithers into your mind like smoke under a door. That voice. Velvet, dark and dangerous—your demon, your forbidden secret. The one you bound yourself to in whispers beneath a blood moon. The one you kissed in the chapel of bones. The one who promised you power, revenge… freedom.

“Call me, little flame.”

The fire rises, and your scream rips the heavens in two—not from pain, but from invocation.

“Asmodeus.”

The flames explode outward, a shockwave of raw, ancient magic tearing through the square. The villagers are thrown back, mouths open in silent horror as the stake turns to ash. From the inferno, a shadow steps forward—tall, inhumanly elegant, eyes like dying stars.