It was scorching, and she was a sweaty mess from her run. The graveyard, as always, exuded a quiet, peaceful aura. Wish stood before the golden grave, which shone brightly under the brilliant sunlight. She was rendered speechless and even a little unnerved by the sight of that lone flower resting there, as if it were placed with a specific purpose—almost as if it were waiting just for her.
But how could she be sure that someone had come here to leave this flower on the grave for her?
She scoffed at herself for once again overthinking the situation. Perhaps it was a loved one of the deceased who had come earlier to leave the flower—a tender tribute, a sign that the person was still remembered.
Yet, a small, bittersweet smile crept over Wish's face as she wondered: Who would care enough to leave a flower on her own grave when she finally died?
What kind of flower would that be, anyway?
Would it be a passionate, romantic red rose like this one, or perhaps an unattractive bloom masquerading as a common weed?
She smiled again, uncertain why the absurdity of it all amused her so. From her point of view, she could almost imagine someone—someone missing the owner of thgolden grave so much—placing this beautiful flower as a final homage.
Wish sighed as she reached out to take the rose. It was breathtaking, a flower that seemed as though it had not come from this world but from a distant, perfect realm where every bloom radiated with beauty.
Glancing at the grave, she murmured, "You get beautiful flowers like this while the living get none. Lucky you."
After all, it wasn't entirely strange to talk to the dead or to sit on their tombstones for hours with a rose clutched in your hand.
Unknown to her, he had been watching from afar for far too long to let her sleep undisturbed. Determined to use her slumber to his advantage, he began moving closer for a more intimate view of his gorgeous bride.
Slipping silently between the tombstones, he excelled under the blazing sun. A pleased smile curled his sharp fangs in subtle amusement as he advanced. His waist-length, dark-red hair framed his impeccably chiseled features as he leaned casually on his tombstone to admire her. Yet even that wasn't enough—he soon lay down beside her sleeping form, determined to take in her every form.
His blue-red eyes sparkled like a cascade of dreamy fireworks as they fell helplessly, again and again, in love with her. From the moment she had deemed his resting place ugly, excessively gaudy, to now—she had unwittingly accepted his gift: the declaration of his presence and the promise of making her his forever.
Every beat of her heart did not escape him; he could do nothing but fantasize about all the unholy pleasures they might share if he sank his fangs deep into her skin and claimed her as his own. The boundless pleasure they could indulge in right there and then was a thought that consumed him.
This beautiful red rose had delivered itself willingly to him.
As twilight deepened, his smile grew even more profound—a blend of pure adoration and unrestrained lust. He inched closer, longing to touch her, yet he hesitated, fearful that a single caress might hurt the fragile beauty before him. He could not bear the thought of harming this virgin soul who had unexpectedly entered his life.
Quietly, he sat by her side on his tombstone until the sun finally bid farewell, leaving them bathed in the gentle glow of his second most cherished thing after her—darkness.
This world was, indeed, a strange and amusing place. It lacked kings and creatures like himself.
The rain fell incessantly, and the moon, though present, did not shine with that eerie, blood-red hue common in his realm. He was perpetually confined within his tomb until his adorable human bride came along to set him free. In a moment of dark yearning, he even wondered if it might be too daring to ask for the sweet taste of her blood—a temptation to satiate his ever-growing hunger and to restore his strength.
His eyes roamed over the new world he had awakened in, marveling at how impossible it all seemed—and questioning why. His own kind would never believe, nor understand, if he were to tell them this.
How had he managed to find the perfect bride to rule at his side after centuries of longing?
He reclined with his legs crossed, lost in that thought.
Slowly, Wish began to regain consciousness. Her eyes fluttered open, and she let out a long yawn, realizing it had been an eternity since she had enjoyed such a refreshing sleep. All around her, everything appeared peaceful; the moon hung high and bright in the sky, casting a cool, gentle glow over the surrounding graves.
The moon?
Wish sat up on the golden grave where she had slumbered.
"How can the moon still be in the sky when it's clearly morning?" she wondered aloud.
Her phone, lying dormant beside her, was off. She switched it on to check the time—and nearly dropped it when the display read: "9:15 PM… How in the world did I sleep here the entire day?"
Straightening her body, she froze at the sight of an enigmatic figure standing at the foot of the golden grave, smirking at her in the pale moonlight.
She stilled herself as much as possible, holding her breath, trying not to move even a fraction.
Who would have thought that this graveyard was not as silent as she once believed, nor as lonely as she wished it to be?
Had this peculiar man—dressed like a medieval fantasy overlord from a realm of darkness—been watching her the entire time she slept?
What was it about his unusual yet striking eye color, and the texture, length, and hue of his hair that captivated her?
And…
Wish gulped, promising herself not to overthink what she was seeing. It was probably all a façade—just like the wig perched on his head, the contact lenses that altered his gaze, and the makeup that rendered his face pale yet hauntingly ethereal. Even the sharp, serpent-shaped fangs protruding from his blood-red lips contributed to the illusion.
Her heart raced as the stranger's smile curved slightly. His dark, gloved hands—adorned with a subtle touch of gold—remained clasped behind him while he continued to stare at her as though she were the most delectable morsel he longed to consume.
After a brief, startled hiccup, she pushed herself away as far as possible from this uncanny figure until her back pressed firmly against the giant headstone.
Who, she wondered, was this man?
Could he be an insane neighbor who hadn't yet gotten the memo that Halloween was still seven months away?
Yet, everything about him felt so real. The intensity of his presence frightened her to the point where she could no longer hide the terror etched on her face.
She felt like a small deer caught in the glare of bright headlights—a sight that somehow only added to her overall vulnerability and made his frozen heart yearn to beat once more.
Who could have imagined that his bride might actually be human?
It was nearly unthinkable—almost impossible—for the mate of a Vampire King to be mortal.
And oh my… He leaned on his grave, as if trying desperately to get closer to her… Did she appear to him as if she were made of a million barrels of gleaming gold and adorned with every immortal jewel you could think of?
Wish's breathing grew shallow as he stalked nearer, like a predator. His diamond-like gaze fixed on her with an overwhelming blend of lust and a deeper, hidden emotion that belied his dark desire.
What was this?
She began trembling uncontrollably as he continued his slow, deliberate approach.
Was this some kind of pre-Halloween prank, or was she still caught in a dream where everything was unreal?
A dream in which a devastatingly handsome man, imitating a traditional vampire, attempted to execute some bizarre fetish on her—all alone in this secluded graveyard, with no one in sight to come to her aid.
He could, in theory, tear her limb from limb and drain her of every last drop of blood, and no one would ever suspect that her remains now lay in a creepy, abandoned graveyard.
Perhaps he was nothing more than a deranged serial killer, attacking his victims while clad in a dark overlord costume and extravagant makeup—and she was about to become his next unfortunate victim.
"Oh God…" Wish cried out in terror. She realized, too late, that pulling out the death card a week ago should have meant literal death instead of this absurd possibility of rebirth.
Now, what to do? The situation became an urgent dilemma, and she wasn't sure that screaming at the top of her lungs would do any good.
The strange man, dressed in a costume reminiscent of Dracula himself, paused only a few feet from where she sat, huddled and trembling in fear.
"Am I…scaring you, love?" he asked in a tone that was disarmingly sincere, and she nearly choked on her own saliva at two things: being called "love" and the way his voice—so smooth and attractively dark—resonated in her ears. It was almost too real, intensifying the mystery surrounding him and making her wonder exactly who or what she was facing.
With tears beginning to pool at the corners of her eyes, she slowly shook her head before eventually nodding when he looked genuinely surprised.
It probably wasn't wise to give him any further ideas about making her submit to terror when her very bones were trembling as if they might shatter.
He appeared like a wrapped, shiny present—complete with a warning label stamped with a skull that read "DO NOT TOUCH"—a mystifying being whose beauty could bring thousands to their knees in worship.
Even the act of simply staring at him made her eyes glisten with tears. In that moment, she wished with all her heart that this vision were real and not just a figment of her imagination, and she hoped it wasn't merely the result of an overwhelming, paralyzing fear.
He smiled down at her in what seemed like a feigned warmth. At that, she flinched as she felt the faint brush of his gloved fingers delicately trace the line of her hair and down along her face.
"Beautiful," he murmured softly. "You are everything I desire for a queen—and so much more."
His eyes locked onto hers as he continued, "How worthy of you, isn't it?"
Her mouth fumbled for words, unable to form a coherent reply. He regarded her as though she were the one he had been waiting for his entire life. The intensity of his gaze filled her with a profound sense of calm, as if she were certain he would never hurt her after spending so long under his fierce yet twinkling stare.
"Say something," he urged gently, still never breaking eye contact.
"I…" she began haltingly.
She gulped as his eyes darkened when they fell on her trembling lips.
"Please…don't hurt me," Wish finally pleaded, surrendering entirely to the vulnerability coursing through her. She sniffled as she tried to gather herself, "I'll give you whatever you want, but please, don't kill me."
Then her sobbing escalated, and she cried out even louder—enough to startle her would-be groom.
"This miserable existence is all I have left… please don't take that away from me. I haven't done anything to deserve this."
The prince of darkness looked at his adorable bride in confusion, clearly not understanding what she meant by her words.
He knew in his cold, unyielding heart that he would never harm his fated bride, not when she was the most lovable, fragile, and precious thing he had ever laid eyes on. His dead heart was stirred by the sound of her cries and the raw pain in her voice.
He wondered silently about her life before their paths had crossed—what terrible experiences had forced her to this point before he had come along to erase it all, as if it had never happened.
Wish shivered as he suddenly cradled both sides of her face with his gloved hands. It was the warmest gesture anyone had ever given her during such a breakdown. Her hair lay in disarray and her face was streaked with tears, yet in his eyes there was nothing more enticing than witnessing her in that moment of vulnerability.
He had loved her from the very moment he saw someone desecrate his resting place—waiting patiently for a bride who would one day liberate him and restore his rightful place.
Her crying soon escalated to such an extent that it startled him deeply. Firmly holding her, he whispered, "Breathe with me."
Wish looked up at this enigmatic stranger, confused yet entranced.
"Breathe with me," he repeated softly as her sobs began to subside. There was something magnetic about this mysterious man—whether it was his otherworldly beauty, his enigmatic charm, or simply the soothing cadence of his request that made her feel as if everything would soon be alright. In less than a moment, their breathing fell into perfect unison. That single act produced sensations within her that were difficult to describe—a dizzying, ethereal feeling that left her weak from head to toe, as if he truly understood exactly what he was doing to her.
When that overwhelming sensation finally consumed her completely, the last thing she perceived was his long, compassionate gaze locked on her. Then, his eyes narrowed into ominous, slit-like shapes, the world around her blurred into obscurity, and she surrendered once again to sleep.