Love At First Death

Elysia backed herself into a corner, her hands clutching the edge of the nightstand as though it might somehow protect her. The laughter outside the door grew louder, grating and inhuman, like nails dragging against rusted metal.

"Damien!" she shouted, her voice a mix of fear and frustration. "If this is some messed-up joke, I swear– "

The laughter stopped abruptly, plunging the room into a deafening silence. She froze, her breath hitching.

And then came the voice. Low, gravelly, and disturbingly familiar.

"You can't hide behind him forever, little dove."

Her blood ran cold. "Who are you?" she whispered, though she wasn't sure she wanted an answer.

The voice chuckled again, a sound that made her stomach churn. "Open the door, and I'll tell you."

"Yeah, that's not happening," she muttered, glancing around the room for something– anything– that could serve as a weapon. Her eyes landed on a ceramic vase on the desk. Perfect. She grabbed it, her grip tight despite her shaking hands.

The voice called out again, more insistent this time. "You shouldn't be here, little dove. He can't save you. Not from me."

Before she could respond– or scream– the door flew open with a crash, splinters flying everywhere. She yelped, raising the vase above her head, ready to smash it on whoever– or whatever– stood on the other side.

But it wasn't what she expected.

It was Damien.

"What the hell are you doing?" he barked, his eyes darting from the vase in her hands to the shattered doorframe.

"Wh-what am I doing?" she stammered, lowering the vase slightly. "What are you doing? And who the hell was that?"

Damien's expression darkened, and for a moment, she thought he might actually be angry. Not his usual brooding, cold anger– but a deep, seething rage.

"Did you open the door?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

"What? No!" she snapped, her fear quickly morphing into indignation. "It opened on its own, and– "

"Liar," the voice interrupted, but this time it was coming from behind Damien.

Elysia's eyes widened in horror as a dark shadow began to stretch across the room, slithering up the walls like living ink. Damien turned sharply, positioning himself between her and the encroaching darkness.

"Stay back," he ordered, though she wasn't sure if he was talking to her or the shadow.

The shadow shifted, forming into the rough outline of a humanoid figure, its face featureless save for a wicked, jagged smile.

"Damien," it drawled, the voice dripping with malice. "So protective of your little dove. How sweet."

Elysia peeked out from behind him, clutching the vase like a lifeline. "Is this... normal for you?" she whispered.

"Shut up," Damien muttered, his eyes never leaving the figure.

"Oh, don't be rude," the shadow said, its smile widening unnaturally. "She's quite charming. A bit fragile, but charming nonetheless."

Elysia scowled, her fear momentarily eclipsed by indignation. "I'm not fragile, you creepy ink blot!"

The shadow's laughter echoed through the room, a sound that made her want to crawl out of her own skin. "Oh?" it said,the sound slithering through the air like smoke.

Damien stepped forward, his jaw tight. "You've made your point. Leave."

The shadow tilted its head, mockingly curious. "Leave? But we were just getting started."

Elysia tugged on Damien's sleeve. "Uh, not to interrupt your glaring contest, but what exactly is that thing?"

Damien didn't answer. Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out something that gleamed in the dim light– a dagger, ornate and clearly old.

The shadow hissed, its form flickering like a dying flame. "Still carrying that relic, I see. How quaint."

Damien ignored the taunt, stepping closer to the shadow. "You have until the count of three to disappear. One..."

The shadow's smile faltered.

"Two..."

It began to retreat, the darkness curling back into itself.

"Three."

Damien lunged, the dagger slicing through the air with precision. The shadow let out a guttural screech as the blade connected, its form shattering into wisps of black smoke that dissipated into nothingness.

Elysia stared, wide-eyed, as Damien lowered the dagger and turned back to her, his expression unreadable.

"So," she said, her voice shaky but defiant. "Care to explain that?"

"Not really," he said, sheathing the dagger.

Her jaw dropped. "Are you kidding me? After all that, you're just going to– "

"Go to bed, Elysia," he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument.

She gaped at him as he walked toward the door– or what was left of it. "You're unbelievable," she muttered.

"And you're alive," he replied, glancing back at her with a ghost of a smirk. "You're welcome."