Page 62 of The Demon and the Broken Girl

He whispers in my ear, so softly only I hear: “I love you, Calla. This time, truly free.”

Tears slip down again, no longer only of pain. “I love you too,” I reply, voice quivering with both sorrow and joy. “And from now on… we shape our own destiny.”

I rest in his arms, the forest cradling us with a gentle breeze. The future remains uncertain—my eyes beyond repair, our bond steeped in demon magic—but we won a victory here.We shattered the old tyrant’s hold, saved my friends from unspeakable fates, proved that a mortal and demon can break the tapestry of a House that once enslaved us. There’s no going back to who we were before. But perhaps, in the aftermath, we’ll find a new beginning.

For now, the wind whispers through the pines, carrying the scent of distant rain. Daeva’s warmth sustains me in the darkness. And though I cannot see the stars, I feel their light on my face—like a promise that even broken eyes can witness a boundless sky, so long as love and hope guide us forward.

16

DAEVA

Istand at the corner of our makeshift settlement, letting the early sun warm the back of my neck. A month has passed since we toppled the House that once shaped my curse, since we fled the ruins of Vaerethis and carved out a fragile peace deep in this ancient forest. It’s hard to believe how quickly we’ve built a refuge here—a scattering of huts and lean-tos among towering pines and mossy boulders, a hidden sanctuary for those who survived the chaos.

Around me, the murmurs of morning life mingle with the hum of insects. Freed slaves and Vaerethis defectors once separated by chains and cruelty now labor side by side, raising shelter walls from felled logs, digging small irrigation trenches for a future garden. Smoke curls from a central fire, where a few folks prepare a communal breakfast. When the wind shifts, I catch the scent of roasting herbs, maybe some wild mushrooms we foraged. It’s a humble feast, but more than many of us ever dared hope for.

My chest tightens with a strange blend of gratitude and wonder. I used to imagine the world beyond my cursed existence as a cold void. Yet here I am, in a clearing suffused with earlysunlight, listening to the laughter of those who found a second chance. Through the tall pines, I spy a simple watchtower made from stacked logs—our only defense against prowling beasts or wandering elf patrols. Even that stands as a testament to shared resolve.

I turn, letting my gaze settle on the small hut at the clearing’s heart. In front of it, a rough wooden table is draped with whatever white cloth we could scavenge, pinned down by stones so it doesn’t blow away. My heart thuds with anticipation:today, we’re to be wed.My lungs feel too tight, my mind whirling in disbelief that I—a demon—could share a mortal’s life in such a tender, ordinary custom. But it was Calla’s wish. She wanted ahumanceremony, a moment of warmth amid the ashes of our tumultuous journey.

A shape flits at the corner of my vision—Silas, his dark hair disheveled, hustling across the clearing with a handful of wildflowers. He notices me and lifts them in a sheepish sort of greeting. We’ve come to an unspoken truce, he and I; though we once clashed, the trials of Vaerethis forced us to rely on each other, forging an odd familial bond. He’s the one who offered to officiate this wedding, despite his utter lack of priestly qualifications.

“Daeva!” he calls, jogging up to me. The flowers in his grip are a wild mix of bright yellows and faded purples, all found in the meadows beyond. “Thought I’d add… I don’t know, a bit of color. It’s a wedding, right?” He grins, breathless.

A faint smile tugs my lips. “Thank you. Calla will appreciate it.” My voice cracks slightly, betraying my nerves.

He lowers the flowers, studying me with solemn empathy. “How’s she doing?”

My gaze shifts beyond him, toward another hut where she prepared earlier. “She’s… anxious,” I admit. “But happy, Ithink.” A hush of warmth stirs in my chest. “She’s trying to accept that this is our life now.”

Silas nods, his grin more genuine. “Good. You two deserve this.” He clears his throat. “Well, I’ll go… set these up. I guess that’s what wedding officiants do?” He laughs, shaking his head at the absurdity.

I watch him go, the sincerity of his gesture easing some of my tension.A wedding.The word still feels surreal. We’ve spent the last month healing, physically and emotionally. Calla’s eyes remain lost, the shards irreversibly entrenched in her flesh. The scarring on her cheeks is still raw. But with each day, she’s honed her other senses, navigating the forest paths with the help of a carved walking stick. Sometimes, she calls ither sword,a wry nod to the fighter she’s become despite her blindness.

She wanted me to wait for her at the clearing’s center, so that’s what I do now, letting the morning breeze tug at my cloak. Freed slaves and refugees from Vaerethis gather in a cautious circle around the makeshift table, whispering excitedly. They’ve never witnessed a demon’s wedding, nor has a demon likely witnessed a human one in living memory. But here we are, forging something new. My heart races, half fear, half exultation.

At last, a hush ripples through the crowd. My breath catches as I see Calla emerge from a small hut across the clearing. Silas must have told her it was time. Her bandaged eyes are turned forward, and her lips are parted in a soft, trembling smile. She wears a simple tunic dyed pale gray, the closest we have to a gown. A thin garland of leaves crowns her hair, courtesy of Jenna—someone told me Jenna insisted on that, for the sake of a “proper wedding.” The green leaves contrast starkly with Calla’s pale features, but it suits her. She looks both otherworldly and heartbreakingly vulnerable.

She uses her carved stick to guide her steps, but two of our new allies walk beside her, offering subtle support. Driedpetals scatter under her feet, thrown by a child who giggles with excitement. My eyes sting with emotion. I recall how Calla once trudged these same woods blind and in pain. Now she strides with regal grace, forging her own path with each step.

She stops a few paces away, uncertain. Silas steps forward, offering her his arm. I move too, heart pounding, gently laying my hand over hers. Her lips curl into a radiant smile at the familiar contact. She tilts her head to catch my scent or my presence, and for a moment, the darkness behind her bandages seems inconsequential—she sees me in ways beyond sight.

“You look…” I falter, throat tight. “You’re beautiful.”

She blushes, tears glistening behind the bandages. “I— Thank you.” Her voice is soft as a breeze.

Silas clears his throat, stepping to the makeshift altar—the battered table draped in cloth. A hush spreads among the onlookers. He sets the wildflowers on the table, next to a small jug of water. No rings, no grand ornaments. We have only sincerity and a handful of treasured bonds.

He raises his voice, awkwardly formal. “We gather here,” he says, “to witness… the union of Calla and Daeva.” He glances between us, then at the crowd, as though expecting laughter at the absurdity of officiating a demon’s wedding. But no one laughs. Many wear expressions of hope or wonder.

“I’m not a priest,” Silas continues, forcing a wry grin, “but I’ve seen enough births and funerals to guess how these things go. We celebrate life and love—two survivors who found each other in the darkest times. And though I once doubted them, I’ve come to see they belong together.”

My chest constricts. I recall how Silas once tried to kill me, how we glared at each other over Calla’s safety. Now he stands in front of us, bridging two worlds. My gaze shifts to Calla; her expression is soft, tears tracking across her cheeks. She can’t see the crowd, but I know she feels their presence.

Silas gestures for us to join hands. I take Calla’s trembling fingers in mine, ignoring how my own injuries still ache. She releases her walking stick to do so, trusting me to hold her upright.

“In times past,” Silas says, “we might have recited vows under some grand temple or before an official. But we have none of that. All we have is each other and the promise you make here, with your friends as witness. Are you ready to speak?”

Calla’s breath catches. “I… yes.” She squeezes my hand, turning her face toward me. Though her eyes are hidden, I swear she peers into my soul. “Daeva, from the moment I touched that cursed mirror, my life changed. I fell into darkness and found you in it. I lost my eyes, but I gained freedom in my heart. You showed me that even in curses, there’s choice—there’s love. I vow to stand with you, demon or no, until our final breath.” Tears slip down her cheeks, bright against her skin. “I love you,” she finishes, voice trembling. “Always.”

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