Destiny Of Darkness

  Grace scoffed, a disbelieving laugh escaping her lips as she stared at him, her mind struggling to process the words. “You’re… joking, right?”

    A dark, painful flicker danced in his eyes as he stared. He closed his eyes, and a noticeable shift took place. Then, the transformation began. His skin seemed to ripple, shadows deepened around him, his flesh darkened, his features sharpened, twisted horns jutted from his forehead, and leathery wings unfurled from his back, casting flickering shadows across the room. His eyes now blazed with light. The air crackled with energy, and the temperature rose. He was terrifying, magnificent, and... demonic. This Ezra was unfamiliar. It was a creature of nightmares, a being of pure terror.

   Grace stumbled back; a strangled scream caught in her throat. Terror coiled deep in her stomach, constricting her breath. Her blood ran cold as she stared at the monstrous figure before her. “Stay away from me!” she cried out, her voice trembling.

   Just as suddenly as it had started, the transformation reversed. The horns receded, the wings disappeared, and the demonic glow vanished from his eyes. Ezra stood before her again, pale and trembling, with the remnants of his demonic face lingering in the air like a bad dream. He looked at Grace, his expression a mix of fear and desperation. Seeing her fear, he returned to his human form. “Grace! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He reached for her, but she flinched away. “Please, just listen. I know it’s a lot to take in. I swear I won’t hurt you; it’s the truth.”

   Grace trembled and backed away even as Ezra stood before her, no longer the monstrous creature that had appeared moments earlier. He was human again, but the terror remained, an icy knot in her stomach that wouldn't loosen. “How... how did you do that?” she stammered, her voice a whisper.

   Ezra’s eyes burned into Grace’s, a stark contrast to the gentle curiosity in her own eyes. “I’m not like the garden-variety demons you might imagine,” he began, his voice rumbling low as it vibrated through the air. “I am descended from the Chaos God of Wrath, Blood, and Skulls called Khorne, albeit ... a somewhat diluted one. My lineage grants me certain... inclinations.” He hesitated, a flicker of something akin to shame crossing his features. “Inclinations towards violence, towards the thrill of the fight. To cause chaos. It’s in my blood, a constant hum I have to keep suppressed.”

   He ran a hand through his hair. “As for the transformation... It’s not a pretty sight. When provoked, when my control slips, the Khornate influence takes over. My features become more bestial, my strength increases tenfold, and sometimes rational thoughts take a backseat to raw, unbridled rage. Think larger, more monstrous, and less pleasant company. The horns are a dead giveaway, of course.” He offered a wry, self-deprecating smile. “Think of it as an unfortunate case of demonic puberty, only fueled by the collective anger of an ancient god.”

   Grace leaned forward, her brow furrowed with disbelief and genuine curiosity. “So, you’re saying, you’re descended from Khorne? The Chaos god?” Ezra shifted but met her gaze. “It’s... complicated. Yes, I’m related to him, but I don’t go around slaughtering people for fun.” His words hung in the air, heavy with the implications of his heritage. He watched her, gauging her reaction.

   “My grandmother used to tell me stories about the old gods. I always thought they were just stories, made up to scare children," she said, leaning back on the sofa.

   Before Grace could process this revelation, Ezra’s gaze softened, and he took her hand as he dropped another bombshell. “I have something else to tell you. Grace, you’re a witch. It’s in your blood. You come from a powerful line of witches.”

   He saw the surprise blossom on her face, then a flicker of fear. Grace scoffed, her laughter tinged with hysteria. “A witch? Are you insane? What? No, that’s impossible. I’m just...me.” He was delusional, and thinking about sharing any kind of bond, magical or not, with the creature she had seen filled her with renewed horror. She clasped her arms, trying to push away the cold reality he was trying to force on her, holding onto the normal life she believed she had.

   Ezra shook his head. “You’re not. That’s why I’m so drawn to you. It’s in your blood, your aura, and the very air that surrounds you. You just haven’t discovered it yet.” The weight of his words settled on her like a heavy cloak of newfound truth. She looked down at her hands as if expecting them to glow with light.

“Grace, consider this: Have you ever felt a deep connection with nature or possessed an innate knowledge? Have you ever had hunches that come true, sensed other people's emotions, or experienced vivid dreams or premonitions? These signs all suggest that you might be a witch.” He asked, studying her face.

   His words resonated with her, stirring long-forgotten feelings. The flashes of inexplicable knowledge, the empathy that often overwhelmed her, the strange comfort she found in the woods—all of these she’d always dismissed as quirks or eccentricities. And the stories her grandmother had told her about witches and gods—she thought they were just stories her grandmother told Grace to keep her entertained. She doubted their truth or her own potential as a witch.

   Grace got up and walked to the large window overlooking the gardens. The silence lingered, heavy with unspoken questions and dawning realizations. Grace turned to look at Ezra. “Okay,” she says. “Assuming this is all true... why do you keep saying we’re soulmates?” She needed to understand the reasoning behind his unwavering belief in their shared destiny and to find out if it was driven by something more than the chaotic currents of their heritage. The answer, she realized, would decide everything.

   “We’re bound by magic, our souls intertwined. I felt it the moment I saw you,” he said as he walked to Grace, taking her hands in his. “You are a witch, Grace. Our destiny is to be together. Our combined strength will be greater than you can imagine.”

   The thought both frightened and fascinated her. “What do you mean, you felt it the moment you saw me? We just met tonight,” she asked.

“Tonight might have been when our paths crossed. But I’ve been watching you for a while,” Ezra tells Grace as he gazes at her. He could see fear in her eyes when the realization hit her; he had been stalking her.

   "You… You have been stalking me? How long? How long, Ezra, have you been stalking me?” she asks, trying not to reveal her overwhelming fear at the thought that he had been watching her. Her voice trembled only slightly, a sign of her effort to maintain control.

   Ezra ran a hand through his dark, unruly hair, a gesture that seemed more nervous than suave. “It… it wasn’t like that, Grace. Please, hear me out.” He took a step closer, and Grace recoiled, her back pressing against the window she stood at.

   She raised her hand, palm out, stopping him. “No. No, I don’t want to hear it. Just tell me how long, Ezra. Just tell me.”

     He sighed, the sound heavy and filled with genuine regret. “Six weeks. Give or take. But I swear, Grace, I… I wasn’t trying to scare you. I just… I couldn’t… I had to be near you.”

   Six weeks. That was six weeks of being watched, her habits examined, her vulnerabilities listed. A shiver ran down her spine, colder than a fall night. She tried to figure out where he might have seen her. Going to work, shopping, visiting family and friends. Where? He had been there. Watching.

   “Why?” she whispered, the word a fragile breath lost in the city’s urban hum. “Why me? What did you see in me?”

“My search for you has been a long one. Because Hemlock Grove drew me in, I found this house and started looking for you. On the street, I caught a brief glimpse of you; I felt our connection,” he said as he turned back to look at her.

   His words, intended to soothe, only increased her anxiety. He called her a witch and claimed to be a demon. He had been stalking her for six weeks. She wasn’t sure which of his confessions frightened her the most.

   “Connected? Ezra, you saw me from afar! Like a lab rat, you observed me! Despite knowing nothing about me, you sensed a connection," she said, her voice rising.

 “I know you volunteer at the animal shelter every Saturday.” At the Bean Press, you always order a black coffee and leave an extravagant tip. I understand you still visit your mother’s grave every Sunday, three years after her passing. There, I saw you crying. You and your friends Valerie and Patti spend a lot of time together. The three of you love to go antique shopping.”

   Grace gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. He had been there at the animal shelter, the coffee shop, her mother’s grave, and when she was out shopping with Valerie and Patti. He had seen her most vulnerable moments.

As it struck, he flinched. “I didn’t mean to… I know it’s wrong. I know I messed up. But I couldn’t stop myself. You… you consume my thoughts, Grace. I can’t deny the pull I feel toward you. We are soulmates.”

   She shook her head, trying to process his words and actions. “This is all so overwhelming. Everything in my life changed in less than 24 hours. My husband left me for a coworker and threw me out of our home. I lost my job. I met a stranger who told me we are soulmates; he even knew my name. You claim that destiny awaits us and that our fates are intertwined. Against all logic, I followed you here after you promised me everything I desired in this world, only to discover that you are a demon and I am a witch, and that you have been watching me for six weeks without my knowledge. It’s all too much. My thoughts are a complete jumble,” she says as she stares out the window, wishing the night sky could swallow her whole.

   “I didn’t mean to overwhelm you, but I don’t want to hide anything from you. You need to know the truth; there’s so much more I want and need you to understand." Ezra sighs as he moved to stand beside her at the window. Grace wrapped her arms around herself, watching him, questioning whether she had made the right choice by sharing so much.

   “You need to rest, we can talk tomorrow,” Ezra said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her.

   She wanted to ask more questions, but exhaustion was taking over. He took her hand, warm and firm, and led her toward the staircase in the foyer. They did not speak as they ascended, each creak of the old wooden stairs a mournful sigh. The silence stretched, heavy, broken only by the rhythmic thud of their footsteps. The second-floor hallway was lit, shadows clinging to the ornate carvings on the walls. They walked down the corridor, past portraits of stern-faced ancestors and antique sconces casting flickering pools of light. They stopped before a massive wooden door, its surface etched with intricate floral designs.

Ezra’s hand touched the cool metal doorknob; he turned it and pushed open the door. Grace gasped. The room was filled with conflicting feelings. It was romantic and Victorian with its ornate details, but also Gothic in its dark grandeur. Shades of gold and caramel painted the walls, softened by the warm glow of several lamps.

   A massive four-poster bed dominated the space, draped in heavy velvet curtains the color of burned caramel. Twisting vines and blossoming roses contrasted with the imposing size of the posts, carved into them. A dark, commanding wooden armoire stood sentinel against one wall, its mirrored surface reflecting the room’s hazy glow. The air was thick with the scents of lavender and old wood, creating a soothing atmosphere. An intriguing yet cautionary aura emanated from the room.

   Ezra stepped aside, his gaze fixed on her. “Rest, Grace. I’m in the next room, should you need help?” He gestured toward the bed. This room... It’s our room, but I won’t share it until you’re ready.” She nodded, unable to find her voice. The weight of exhaustion pressed down on her like a suffocating blanket. She needed to lie down, close her eyes, and process everything she had learned.

    Ezra watched her, his expression unreadable in the dim light. “Tomorrow, Grace, we can discuss this more. There is a nightgown on the bed. Good night, Grace, sleep well, love,” he whispered. Then, with a soft sigh, he retreated, closing the heavy wooden door behind him.

    Grace stood alone, the silence in the room amplified by the echoing click of the latch. She strolled toward the bed, her fingers trailing across the smooth fabric of the velvet curtains. A strange sense of peace settled over her. She pulled back the curtains and found a nightgown crafted from the most delicate, luminous white silk. The neckline is a soft, plunging V-neck, edged with delicate, antique-inspired lace, featuring a floral pattern of lilies, and detailed; this lace trim extended to the three cap sleeves, adding a touch of romance. A broader band of the same beautiful lace adorned the hem of the nightgown. Grace thought the outfit suitable bridal wear for a wedding night. She shed her clothes and slips the luxurious fabric over her head. It flows like liquid moonlight whispering against her skin as the silk pools around her feet, and the lace creates a dreamy, ethereal effect. Reaching for the covers, she pulls them back, revealing soft, cream-colored sheets.

   As she sank into the plush mattress, the scent of lavender wrapped around her like a gentle lullaby. She laid her head down, her eyes drifting shut. Tomorrow, she would find the answers she needed. She would have the strength to face the truth then. But for tonight, she would rest.