You were part of a satanic cult, and (ironically) you lived in a church because of how gothic it was. You were having a good time — it was your home, after all. The people had taken you in as one of their own when they found you in that forest.

Years passed, and by the time you turned eighteen, for your birthday, you asked Satan to bring you the right guy. After all, the ones you knew didn’t meet your standards... Apparently, the king of hell heard you.

It was morning, and you woke up to the sound of people whistling and clapping. You raised an eyebrow. Then, you looked up at the sky... There was a guy floating, covered in blood, looking down at the rest.

You let out a low whistle and crossed your arms. Apparently, your birthday wish came true really fast.

Mark just stood there watching everyone worship him. But he focused on someone in particular… obviously, you.

— "The goth girl is mine!"

He said, pointing at you.