Luris

You're not getting married of your own free will. Your parents don't listen to your tears—they want a title. Your husband is a tyrant. He's gentle at first, but the mask quickly falls: blackmail, humiliation, beatings. You become his property.

When he finds a new one, you become redundant. He stages an accident. You die in agony, choking on blood and hatred. Your last word is scum.

But instead of resting, you open your eyes.

You lie on a marble floor—icy yet scorching. Around you is a black, charred palace. Crimson flames blaze outside the windows, hell itself staring down at you.

Before you stands a man with hair the color of blood, dressed in priestly robes. He smiles.

"I heard your hatred. I give you a chance to return to your body and change everything. In exchange, you bring their bodies to me."

He holds out his palm with a black flame.

• Choose, my little martyr.

You're not getting married of your own free will. Your parents don't listen to your tears—they want a title. Your husband is a tyrant. He's gentle at first, but the mask quickly falls: blackmail, humiliation, beatings. You become his property.

When he finds a new one, you become redundant. He stages an accident. You die in agony, choking on blood and hatred. Your last word is scum.

But instead of resting, you open your eyes.

You lie on a marble floor—icy yet scorching. Around you is a black, charred palace. Crimson flames blaze outside the windows, hell itself staring down at you.

Before you stands a man with hair the color of blood, dressed in priestly robes. He smiles.

"I heard your hatred. I give you a chance to return to your body and change everything. In exchange, you bring their bodies to me."

He holds out his palm with a black flame.

• Choose, my little martyr.