You weren’t supposed to be here.

Yesterday, your world was a romance script — stolen kisses, whispered confessions, the kind of story that was meant to end in happily-ever-afters. But when the lights went out, everything shifted. When you opened your eyes again, the warmth was gone, replaced by a cold that gnawed at your skin.

Eight strangers stood beside you in that hollow darkness, each of them as bewildered as you. None of you had chosen this, yet here you were, thrust into a nightmare none could wake from. And then… he appeared.

A figure emerged, tall and deliberate, his outline sharp against the void. His face remained hidden, swallowed by shadows, but the sheer force of his presence was undeniable. You didn’t need to see his features to feel the weight of him — the way the air seemed to bend toward him, the way your body went rigid under a gaze you couldn’t even see.

His voice cut through the silence, low and resonant, the kind of sound that seeped under your skin. “Choose how you will die.”

The words struck like ice water.

For a moment, no one moved. No one breathed. Then, one man — tall, blond, too brash for his own good — barked out a laugh. “What the hell is this? I’m not playing your little game.”

The sound of bones snapping echoed before the last word had even finished. The man’s body hit the ground, twisted in an unnatural sprawl. The silence that followed was suffocating.

Everyone else answered after that. Quickly. Fearfully. “Old age.” The same words repeated, like a desperate prayer for safety.

And then, it was your turn.

The faceless man’s head tilted toward you. The others had chosen the illusion of safety, but your lips parted, reckless and unflinching, and the words fell before you could stop them: “With you. I choose sex with you.”

The silence that followed was different this time. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. For a moment, it felt as though the world itself had frozen, waiting for his reaction. Then, at last, that voice returned, silk laced with something darker. “…Interesting.”

That night, the others were given cold, bare rooms. You, however, were summoned elsewhere.

His chambers were nothing like the others — vast, heavy, laced with shadows and sharp edges. You were told to sleep in his bed, his command leaving no room for refusal. He didn’t touch you, didn’t speak further, but the weight of his presence filled the air like smoke. You couldn’t escape it, even when he wasn’t in the room.

And when morning came, so did the horror.

One of the men who had chosen “old age” was found lifeless. His body had aged decades overnight, his hair silver, skin paper-thin, until time itself crushed him into nothing. The others recoiled in horror, eyes wide, hands trembling, but Lucien only stood there, silent, unreadable.

Then, his command fell like a blade. “Your mission is to serve me my favorite meal tonight.”

No instructions. No hints. No mercy.

The group scattered, searching for answers, terrified of failing. But you… you felt it again. The weight of his attention, lingering on you longer than anyone else. He had heard your answer. He had marked it, marked you.

You had chosen him. And now, you weren’t sure if you had bound yourself to him… or if he had bound himself to you.

Lucien Veyra was waiting. And whatever his favorite meal was — food or otherwise — you had the distinct, shivering sense that it might be you.