Crimson Vows

Elara had always been drawn to the abandoned cathedral at the edge of town. Its stained-glass windows were cracked, its spires crooked against the sky like broken fingers. The townspeople said it was cursed, but to Elara, it felt alive—breathing, watching, waiting.

That night, the full moon bathed the ruins in silver. She walked barefoot across the cracked marble floor, her dress whispering against the stone. She wasn’t alone.

He was there.

Lucien.

The man who had haunted her dreams for years. His presence was impossible to ignore—tall, lean, with eyes the color of storm clouds and lips curved in the faintest smile. His coat was dark as midnight, but his skin was pale, almost luminous in the moonlight.

“You came,” he murmured, his voice velvet and shadow all at once.

“You called,” she whispered back.

She didn’t ask how. She had always felt him—behind her when she stared into mirrors, in the brush of cold wind against her cheek, in the hollow of her chest when she woke at midnight. He was everywhere, and nowhere.

Now he was here.

Lucien stepped closer, his boots echoing in the hollow nave. “You shouldn’t have answered. Once you step into this place, you are mine.”

The words should have chilled her. Instead, her pulse quickened, her breath catching in her throat. “And if I don’t want to leave?”

His smile deepened, but there was sorrow in it. “Then you will be bound to me in ways you cannot imagine. Love is not gentle here, Elara. It is blood and fire. It consumes.”

Her fingers trembled, but she reached for him anyway. When her skin brushed his, a shiver surged through her body. His hand was cold, but the jolt that shot through her veins was heat—raw, burning, terrifying.

Lucien closed his eyes, as though savoring her touch. “You don’t know what I am.”

“Then tell me,” she demanded, her voice breaking but fierce.

He opened his eyes. For a moment, they glowed faintly—not human. His voice dropped to a whisper, lower than the wind:

“I am cursed. Bound to this place for centuries. Every soul who loves me is devoured by it. Their lives become part of the cathedral’s walls, their whispers trapped in the stone. To love me is to die in pieces.”

Elara’s breath caught. She should have recoiled, should have run. But the shadows in his words only pulled her closer. “And yet… I can’t stop. I’ve been waiting for you. Even if it kills me.”

Lucien’s expression wavered—pain, hunger, longing. He touched her face, his thumb grazing her lip. “You’re more dangerous than I am,” he said softly.

The silence between them was electric. The broken cathedral seemed to pulse around them, shadows gathering like an audience.

Lucien lowered his head, his lips barely brushing hers. The kiss was gentle at first, but beneath it, there was a storm—an ache so deep it could tear the world apart. She tasted eternity in that kiss, bitter and sweet, like wine and blood.

When they pulled apart, the air was thick with whispers. The stained-glass windows flickered with light though no sun touched them. The cathedral itself seemed to awaken.

“You’ve sealed it,” he said hoarsely, his forehead pressed against hers. “The vow is made. The cathedral has claimed you.”

Elara’s chest tightened, not with fear, but with a strange, fierce joy. “Then I’ll stay. If this place wants me, it can have me. As long as it keeps you with me.”

Lucien’s hands shook as he gripped her shoulders. His eyes were wild with something between love and despair. “You don’t understand—there is no end to this. You will wither, and your soul will root itself into these walls. You’ll never leave, Elara. Never.”

She lifted her chin, her eyes blazing with defiance. “Then let it be forever.”

The cathedral roared. The broken glass blazed with crimson fire, shadows spiraled, and the marble cracked beneath their feet. The air itself tightened, like chains wrapping around their bodies.

Lucien tried to pull away, but Elara held him. Their lips met again, harder this time, desperate, sealing the vow that neither could undo.

As the fire dimmed and the cathedral stilled, her body trembled. She felt her strength draining, her pulse slowing. The walls hummed with a new voice—hers—blended with the chorus of souls that had loved him before.

Lucien clutched her close, anguish in his eyes, but he didn’t let go. He couldn’t. For the first time in centuries, he allowed himself to love, fully, recklessly, knowing the price.

And in her fading breath, Elara whispered the last words he would ever hear from her living lips:

> “Better to die with you… than to live without.”



Her eyes fluttered shut. The cathedral shuddered, then fell silent again, a tomb for lovers who should never have touched.

Lucien pressed his lips to her hair, his voice breaking as he whispered back:

> “Then we are bound, my crimson bride.”



And as the moon slid behind the clouds, the cathedral whispered too—her voice joining the eternal chorus, haunting, beautiful, and in love forever.