Page 131 of The Devil's Canvas

Not like a ghost. Like vengeance incarnate.

Her curls are a wild halo of flame, golden hair ignited at the ends, eyes glowing with eldritch green light — not human, not heavenly. Something older. Something crueler. She floats, barefoot and graceful, wrapped in smoke.

Even the air recoils.

Melanie chokes on her own breath. “You—no. No, you’re dead,” she whimpers, eyes wild as she stumbles backward into the counter.

Calliope smiles like a knife dragged across glass. “Death was a nap, darling. You, however…” she says, voice like honey dripped over a blade, “are an offense to memory.”

Cassius scrambles, arms raised like that could help. “What do you want?” he pants, his voice already breaking.

Julian doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. “She wants what was stolen,” he says, voice low and sharp. “And she came to collect.”

Calliope’s feet never touch the ground. She glides across the floor like a painting come to life — too vivid, too powerful. Her hands glow faintly as she raises one finger, and the moment it points to Cassius — his body locks.

Every tendon, every joint — frozen.

“You took my daughter. You erased her future. And you ran like a coward,” Calliope says softly, almost lovingly. “But no one outruns me.”

Cracks spiderweb under his feet, glowing orange and red.

The floor splits. Not with grace—with violence. Like Hell biting through its leash.

Flames shoot up, runes, burning words, written in the language of the damned. They sear into Cassius’s skin as the chains rise—black, barbed, and alive, wrapping around his wrists, ankles, ribs, throat.

He tries to scream. The chains cinch tighter.

“Your soul never belonged to you,” Ophelia says, stepping into the glow of the fire. “You bartered with blood that wasn’t yours. So now?”

She lifts her hand. He starts to burn. Not fast. Not mercy. Slow. Peeling. Ripping. Screaming.

His mouth opens wide, teeth cracking from the heat, skin blistering down to muscle, not one part of him dies clean. The chains jerk downward, dragging him inch by inch toward the maw in the floor. His fingernails rip from his hands as he claws at the edge.

Julian doesn’t flinch. I doesn’t blink.

Calliope tilts her head, watching him like one might observe a fly drowning in syrup.

The floor yawns wide—

And Cassius vanishes in a final, blood-curdling scream.

Gone.

Melanie doesn’t scream. She begs. “No—no no no—” she says, crawling backward, sobs choking her words. Her skin begins to gray. Veins collapse under her skin, turning her translucent. Her fingers scratch at her chest like she can hold her identity in place.

“What's happening to me?” she gasps, her mouth shaking, eyes wild and unseeing. “I—who—”

Calliope kneels beside her, speaking softly, as though she’s talking to a child. “You’ll be nothing. That’s your punishment. No fire. No eternity. Just absence.”

“Not one person will remember you,” Ophelia adds, stepping closer. “Not your family. Not your lovers. Not even yourself.”

Melanie screams — but it’s not even sound anymore. It’s static. A void bleeding out of her mouth.

Her hair fades next. Her eyes follow. Her name peels off her soul like paint stripped from rotting wood.

And with a final, shuddering breath—she turns to dust. Not ash. Not smoke. Just dust.

Calliope stands, brushing invisible dirt from her hands.

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