The Fire Beneath Her Skin

The city was drowning in fog again.

Seraphina Vale walked through the mist-covered campus of Blackridge University, her boots clicking softly on the cobblestones. The streetlamps overhead cast pale, flickering halos around themselves, barely pushing back the grey that wrapped the world like a wet shroud. She didn’t mind the gloom. It made it easier to see what others couldn’t.

Like the flickers of fire that danced at the edge of her vision.

She paused beneath an old oak tree, pressing her hand to its bark. Warmth pulsed through her palm. It wasn’t the tree. It was her. Again. The fire was growing stronger.

She closed her eyes, exhaling slowly.

Keep it hidden. Keep it under control. No one can know what you are.

Not yet.

But the flame inside her was no longer a whisper. It was waking. And tonight, it was restless.

“Hey, Sera!”

Her cousin Elise waved from across the courtyard, her arms full of spellbooks and iced coffee. Seraphina offered a small smile, slipping her gloves back on. Elise never noticed the signs — the strange heat around her, the way shadows curled toward her footsteps. Elise thought she was just the pretty, quiet cousin from upstate. Not a witch with a bloodline as old as darkness itself.

"Library?" Elise asked.

Sera nodded. "You go ahead. I’ll catch up."

The moment Elise disappeared inside the building, the temperature around her dropped. A gust of unnatural wind swept the fog aside, revealing him.

Lucien Blackthorn stood in the shadow of the chapel ruins — tall, cloaked, and silent. His presence was like gravity. Sera’s breath hitched.

"You’re not supposed to be here," she said, voice calm despite the thundering in her chest.

Lucien said nothing at first. He never did. Just stared at her with those inhuman eyes — deep gold, glowing faintly even in the gloom.

“I go where the contract commands me.”

“Then the contract is broken.”

He stepped closer, his black coat catching the wind like wings. “No. You just haven’t remembered it yet.”

She hated the way he spoke — like he knew her better than she knew herself. Like he owned pieces of her memory she couldn’t reach. But worse was the pull. That aching, impossible pull between them.

“Why are you following me?” she asked.

He paused. “Because you’re starting to burn. And when you burn, others die.”

Her fists clenched. “Get out of my head.”

Lucien smiled — just barely. “I haven’t even entered it yet.”

She hated that smile. She hated how her heart fluttered when he was near. He was a liar. A demon. A cursed thing wrapped in human skin. And yet...

The memory flashed — a vision, a dream, maybe a lie. Fire everywhere. Screams. And Lucien, standing in the center of it, eyes on hers, untouched by the flames.

“You were there,” she whispered.

Lucien’s smile vanished. “You’re remembering.”

Sera took a step back. The ground trembled beneath her feet. Her magic surged in her veins, hot and hungry.

“Stay away from me,” she said.

“I can’t.”

She turned and walked away without another word, but the heat inside her only grew. The fog parted around her steps. Leaves blackened and curled behind her. And somewhere behind her, Lucien whispered something in a language older than time.

The shadows followed her home.

Her apartment was small, full of candlelight and half-read grimoires. As she stepped through the door, the wards she’d cast flared briefly, recognizing her blood. Safe.

Or so she thought.

Because he was already there.

Lucien stood by the window, holding one of her spellbooks — the one she kept hidden. The one that had her name, etched in blood and gold, across the front.

“You need stronger wards,” he said.

“You need to leave.”

He didn’t.

“I can’t protect you if I’m always chasing your shadow.”

“I never asked you to protect me.”

“No,” he said, his voice low. “You ordered it.”

She froze.

“What?”

“You summoned me. You bound me. You commanded me to guard you with my life. And then you erased your memory.”

The book slipped from her hand.

Lies. It had to be. Witches didn’t bind demons lightly — it was forbidden. Dangerous. Fatal.

“You’re lying.”

Lucien stepped close. “Say that again, witch. And look me in the eye when you do.”

She did. And in his gaze, she saw it — the truth.

She had summoned him. Bound him. And something — someone — had made her forget.

“Why?” she whispered. “Why would I do that?”

Lucien looked at her then, with something softer in his eyes. Almost regret.

“Because you knew what was coming. And because you were never the victim in this story.”

He reached out, brushing her cheek with the back of his fingers. Her skin flared beneath his touch — not with pain, but with recognition.

And then he said it, barely above a whisper:

“You were the fire, Seraphina. Not the one who burned.”