Evelyn stood in the middle of the ruined bedroom, her form wavering like a candle’s flame against the wind. She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, where a heart once beat. Her mind swirled with fractured memories—blood-stained sheets, a whisper in the dark, the cold grip of death.
She had been murdered.
But by whom?
Azrael watched her closely, his sharp eyes scanning her expression. Unlike her, he did not seem rattled by the revelation. Instead, he looked… intrigued.
“You’re taking this rather well,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Azrael leaned against the broken vanity, arms crossed over his chest. “I’ve seen worse.”
Evelyn let out a shaky breath. “I suppose you would, being a devil and all.”
Azrael’s lips curled into a smirk. “Now you’re catching on.”
She swallowed, turning her gaze back to the faded bloodstain on the bed. “If I was murdered, then the person who did it… they must still be out there. Or at least, their actions have kept me bound here.” She looked at Azrael, uncertainty in her ghostly eyes. “What if I don’t want to remember?”
Azrael tilted his head slightly. “Then you’ll remain trapped in this decaying prison forever.” He stepped toward her, his presence almost overwhelming despite his mortal form. “I don’t believe you want that.”
She hesitated. No, she didn’t want to be bound here, lingering like a forgotten shadow. But what if the truth was worse than she could bear?
“Fine,” she said at last. “Then where do we start?”
Azrael turned back to the shattered vanity, his fingers brushing over the cracked mirror. “Memories leave imprints. If this is where you died, something in this room may serve as a key to unlocking what you’ve forgotten.”
Evelyn frowned. “Like an object?”
Azrael nodded. “A tether. Something significant to you. Something that connects you to your past.”
She glanced around, scanning the wreckage of what had once been her bedroom. Everything was broken, rotting, lost to time. But as she drifted toward a collapsed bookshelf, something caught her eye—a small glint beneath the debris.
“What’s this?” she murmured, reaching down. Her ghostly fingers passed through the rubble at first, but as she concentrated, something happened. The dust shifted, and a small object rolled free, coming to rest at Azrael’s feet.
He bent down, picking it up between his fingers. It was a locket. The metal was tarnished, the chain broken, but there was no mistaking its significance.
Evelyn gasped. “I know that.”
Azrael glanced at her, then pried the locket open with ease. Inside, behind cracked glass, was a faded portrait of a man.
Evelyn’s entire form flickered violently. A cold rush of something—recognition, fear—gripped her.
Azrael watched her reaction closely. “You remember him.”
She stared at the image, her eyes wide with something close to terror. “I… I think so.”
Azrael studied the face in the locket. The man was handsome in a refined, aristocratic way—dark hair neatly combed, sharp eyes that seemed to hold secrets. There was something calculating in his gaze, even in the faded portrait.
“Who is he?” Azrael asked.
Evelyn’s lips parted, but the name wouldn’t come. It was there, just out of reach, like a whisper she couldn’t quite catch.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, frustration lacing her voice. “But I feel… something. Fear.” She shuddered. “He meant something to me.”
Azrael snapped the locket shut. “Then he may be the key to your past.”
Evelyn wrapped her arms around herself. “Do you think… he’s the one who killed me?”
Azrael glanced back at the bloodstain on the bed. “It’s a possibility.”
A heavy silence settled between them. Evelyn stared at the locket in Azrael’s hand, as if it held all the answers she sought. But with those answers came a darker truth—one she wasn’t sure she was ready to face.
Azrael, on the other hand, felt something stir in his chest. The more he unraveled Evelyn’s past, the more certain he became—her death was connected to something far greater than a simple murder.
Perhaps even the Stone of Immortality itself.
His fingers tightened around the locket. Whatever secrets lay buried in Evelyn’s past, he would uncover them. Not for her sake, but for his own.
And if it led him to the power he sought?
Then nothing—not even the ghost who had begun to stir something unfamiliar within him—would stand in his way.
Evelyn stood in the middle of the ruined bedroom, her form wavering like a candle’s flame against the wind. She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, where a heart once beat. Her mind swirled with fractured memories—blood-stained sheets, a whisper in the dark, the cold grip of death.
She had been murdered.
But by whom?
Azrael watched her closely, his sharp eyes scanning her expression. Unlike her, he did not seem rattled by the revelation. Instead, he looked… intrigued.
“You’re taking this rather well,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Azrael leaned against the broken vanity, arms crossed over his chest. “I’ve seen worse.”
Evelyn let out a shaky breath. “I suppose you would, being a devil and all.”
Azrael’s lips curled into a smirk. “Now you’re catching on.”
She swallowed, turning her gaze back to the faded bloodstain on the bed. “If I was murdered, then the person who did it… they must still be out there. Or at least, their actions have kept me bound here.” She looked at Azrael, uncertainty in her ghostly eyes. “What if I don’t want to remember?”
Azrael tilted his head slightly. “Then you’ll remain trapped in this decaying prison forever.” He stepped toward her, his presence almost overwhelming despite his mortal form. “I don’t believe you want that.”
She hesitated. No, she didn’t want to be bound here, lingering like a forgotten shadow. But what if the truth was worse than she could bear?
“Fine,” she said at last. “Then where do we start?”
Azrael turned back to the shattered vanity, his fingers brushing over the cracked mirror. “Memories leave imprints. If this is where you died, something in this room may serve as a key to unlocking what you’ve forgotten.”
Evelyn frowned. “Like an object?”
Azrael nodded. “A tether. Something significant to you. Something that connects you to your past.”
She glanced around, scanning the wreckage of what had once been her bedroom. Everything was broken, rotting, lost to time. But as she drifted toward a collapsed bookshelf, something caught her eye—a small glint beneath the debris.
“What’s this?” she murmured, reaching down. Her ghostly fingers passed through the rubble at first, but as she concentrated, something happened. The dust shifted, and a small object rolled free, coming to rest at Azrael’s feet.
He bent down, picking it up between his fingers. It was a locket. The metal was tarnished, the chain broken, but there was no mistaking its significance.
Evelyn gasped. “I know that.”
Azrael glanced at her, then pried the locket open with ease. Inside, behind cracked glass, was a faded portrait of a man.
Evelyn’s entire form flickered violently. A cold rush of something—recognition, fear—gripped her.
Azrael watched her reaction closely. “You remember him.”
She stared at the image, her eyes wide with something close to terror. “I… I think so.”
Azrael studied the face in the locket. The man was handsome in a refined, aristocratic way—dark hair neatly combed, sharp eyes that seemed to hold secrets. There was something calculating in his gaze, even in the faded portrait.
“Who is he?” Azrael asked.
Evelyn’s lips parted, but the name wouldn’t come. It was there, just out of reach, like a whisper she couldn’t quite catch.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, frustration lacing her voice. “But I feel… something. Fear.” She shuddered. “He meant something to me.”
Azrael snapped the locket shut. “Then he may be the key to your past.”
Evelyn wrapped her arms around herself. “Do you think… he’s the one who killed me?”
Azrael glanced back at the bloodstain on the bed. “It’s a possibility.”
A heavy silence settled between them. Evelyn stared at the locket in Azrael’s hand, as if it held all the answers she sought. But with those answers came a darker truth—one she wasn’t sure she was ready to face.
Azrael, on the other hand, felt something stir in his chest. The more he unraveled Evelyn’s past, the more certain he became—her death was connected to something far greater than a simple murder.
Perhaps even the Stone of Immortality itself.
His fingers tightened around the locket. Whatever secrets lay buried in Evelyn’s past, he would uncover them. Not for her sake, but for his own.
And if it led him to the power he sought?
Then nothing—not even the ghost who had begun to stir something unfamiliar within him—would stand in his way.
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