Chapter 1: The Girl in the Mirror

The mirror had always been unkind to Freya.

She stood in her bedroom, bathed in the pale yellow light of her desk lamp, staring at her reflection. Same skinny arms. Same awkward shoulders. Same plain face that disappeared in the crowd at school. She tugged at her oversized sweater, trying to will herself into someone beautiful—someone worthy of being noticed.

It didn’t work.

Freya let out a sigh, her breath fogging up the glass. She reached up and wiped it away, smearing the reflection. There was a dance next week. Everyone was talking about it, pairing up, planning their dresses and hairstyles. And he—Caleb—was going to be there. Her crush since freshman year. Golden boy of the school. The one who’d never even looked at her twice.

Her fingers curled into a fist. “I just want to be seen,” she whispered.

No one heard her. Not her absent parents, always working late. Not the girls at school who laughed too loudly when she walked past. And certainly not the universe, which had remained stubbornly indifferent to every silent plea she’d ever made.

That night, she retreated into the attic—a space she’d avoided since childhood. Dust choked the air, and shadows clung to the wooden beams like cobwebs. But something about it called to her. She wanted to be alone, but more than that, she needed to escape the version of herself she was tired of living with.

She was about to turn back when she noticed an old trunk tucked behind a broken rocking chair. Curiosity tugged at her. With effort, she dragged it out and pried it open. Inside were old velvet cloths, a melted candle, bones—real or not, she couldn’t tell—and a leather-bound book with faded gold lettering.

Her skin prickled. The title read: "The Binding of Desire: Rituals from Beyond."

She should have closed the trunk. Should have laughed and walked away. But something in the air shifted. The silence around her thickened, charged, as though holding its breath.

Freya sat cross-legged and opened the book.

The pages were filled with strange symbols, incantations, rituals. Most were written in languages she didn’t understand, but one stood out—A Summon for Love’s Longing. Her eyes scanned the ingredients. A drop of blood. A mirror. A black candle. A wish spoken from the soul.

Her heart pounded.

It was insane.

And yet… what if it wasn’t?

Later that night, in her room, she drew the sigil from the page onto her mirror with lipstick. She lit a black candle she’d found in the attic, pricked her finger, and let the drop of blood fall onto the glass. Her voice trembled as she read the words aloud:

"I call to the one who answers longing,

From shadows deep and desires belonging.

Show yourself to me, bound by this plea,

And grant the beauty I beg to see."

The flame flickered. The room grew colder.

Suddenly, the mirror darkened—black smoke billowing across the surface like storm clouds. Freya gasped and stumbled back. The reflection faded, replaced by something—someone—else.

A tall figure emerged from the smoke. Eyes like molten gold. Hair dark as midnight, tousled like he'd just stepped out of a dream or a nightmare. His presence filled the room like a storm. And then he smirked.

"Well," he said in a voice like velvet and fire, "someone’s been a naughty girl."

Freya’s heart nearly stopped. “W-who—what are you?”

He stepped closer, barefoot, shirt open at the collar, revealing smooth, pale skin beneath. “You summoned me. The question is—why?”

“I… I wanted…” Her voice was barely a whisper. “To be beautiful.”

He laughed—dark and low. “Humans. Always so predictable.”

She flushed, backing up against the wall. “Is this real?”

“Oh, very real.” He tilted his head, studying her like a hunter studies prey. “I’m Azrael. Demon of desire. And you, Freya, have made a deal.”

She froze. “How do you know my name?”

“I know everything about you. Every time you’ve cried into your pillow, every time you wished for more. That’s the scent I follow. Need.” He leaned in, his lips near her ear. “And yours is delicious.”

Freya’s knees went weak.

Azrael straightened. “I’ll give you what you want, little dove. But a wish always comes at a price.”

She swallowed hard. “What do you want?”

He grinned. “Oh, nothing much. Just… your time. Your space. Your soul might come later.” He winked.

Freya stared at him, pulse racing. This was madness. This was dangerous. And yet, for the first time in forever, someone was looking at her—not through her.

She whispered, “Okay.”

And with that, the pact was sealed.

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