BLEEDING VELVET

The first time Velda screamed, it wasn't out of fear—it was hunger. Not the kind that gnaws at your belly, but the kind that hollows your soul and demands blood in return. Her hands were shaking, nails blackening, stretching into points. The mirror in front of her cracked, not from impact, but from the weight of the reflection staring back.

She didn't recognize her own face anymore.

"Almond," she hissed. Her voice wasn't hers. It was deeper, distorted. "You think this is your game?"

Behind her, candles flared on their own. The air was too still, like the world itself paused to listen. Shadows pulled toward her, eager, starved.

She had waited long enough.

Velda had seen Aren with Almond—seen the way he bent to her, broke for her. And that should've made her jealous. But what pulsed in Velda's chest wasn't envy.

It was claim.

"You made him yours," she whispered, digging her nails into her palm until blood welled. "But I made him need."

She touched her lips. The memory of Aren's last words to her echoed—not the ones said aloud, but the ones passed in the kiss he left burning on her mouth. Don't forget me.

Too late.

She could still taste him.

She could still feel the tremble in his hands.

Velda stepped barefoot across the room, trailing blood with each step. Magic swirled behind her, thick and violent, wrapping itself around her like armor. The books on the shelf rattled. The floorboards groaned.

The house knew.

She wasn't just going to fight for Aren. She was going to destroy whatever Almond thought she had.

Not just because of love.

But because Velda was done being the forgotten shadow in someone else's fairy tale.

No more side character.

No more pity.

She was going to ruin the ending.

Velda stepped outside, night clinging to her skin like a jealous ex. The sky was black, no moon, no stars—like the heavens themselves refused to witness what she was about to become.

Her feet didn't touch the ground anymore.

They hovered.

Floated.

The power inside her had snapped free of its leash.

Every step she took echoed like a drumbeat of war—slow, deliberate, cruel.

She passed the old cemetery, and even the dead seemed to flinch.

In her fist, she held Aren's torn hoodie—bloodied from the last scuffle, the one she swore she didn't care about. But she had kept it. Slept with it. Cried into it. Whispered curses and fantasies into its fabric.

She kissed the torn cloth.

"Watch me, baby," she breathed into the night. "Watch me tear the stars out for you."

And when she looked up again, her eyes glowed red.

Not magic.

Possession.

Not of demons.

But of purpose.

Almond might've tasted his soul, but Velda had seen his ruin. She would become the obsession that devoured the obsession.

Let the world watch.

Let it burn.

Velda didn't just want revenge anymore—no, she needed it. Like a starving thing craves marrow, like the sea yearns for storms. Almond had always been a shadow in Aren's life. A bitter taste that lingered no matter how far he tried to run. But Velda… she was the firelight that had waited patiently, faithfully, hoping he'd see her, choose her.

And he never did.

Until now. When it was too late.

She walked into the forest where she and Aren once hid during one of his panic attacks, back when the voices got too loud in his head. She remembered how he curled against her like a wounded wolf and how she kissed his temple, whispering affirmations, promises, spells made from nothing but sincerity.

But magic had never been enough for men like Aren.

They always wanted chaos.

Always wanted the girl that would cut them open and smile.

She hated how much she still wanted him. Even now. Even after everything.

Velda knelt in the soft mud of that forest floor, digging her nails into the dirt. She whispered his name like a broken prayer, voice hoarse, soul trembling.

"Aren... if there's anything left of you in there… anything human… you'll come back for me."

And if he didn't?

She'd make sure Almond couldn't keep him.

Not alive. Not dead. Not in spirit.

Suddenly, the trees whispered. Not wind. Not leaves. Whispers.

"She's coming."

Velda's head snapped up.

"She thinks he's hers now," the forest murmured, voices crawling over her skin like insects. "But you were always the one who saw him first."

A shiver ran through her, but she didn't stand. No. She invited the madness closer, breathed it in.

"Tell me what I have to do," she said aloud.

The forest didn't answer.

It laughed.

A cruel, feminine laugh. The same laugh that once came from Almond's lips—honeyed and wicked.

Velda's eyes rolled back as her chest lifted in rhythm to an unseen pulse. The world shifted.

And in that instant, her pupils thinned.

Her back cracked.

The hunger fully took her.

She was no longer just a girl who loved a broken boy.

She was the woman reborn to destroy the girl who broke him.