Three Days to Ash

I dragged my dying body back to the manor, stumbling with every step. I had no intention of turning to ash here.

I only wanted to take with me the last traces of my existence.

I found there was nothing left to pack.

I pushed open the door to my former perfumery, only to find it had long been converted into a cold storage room.

My perfumer's organ had been shoved into a corner, covered in a thick layer of dust.

The essential oils and scent strips I had once so carefully blended were all tossed haphazardly into cardboard boxes.

Only the black walnut worktable remained in its original spot, but its surface was buried under a pile of junk.

In a corner lay a shattered crystal vial, containing the last remnants of the only gift Damien ever gave me for our First Embrace: a drop of low-grade, desiccated blood amber.

I sat at the table and reached out, brushing the dust from its surface. My fingertips froze as they touched a picture frame.

It was a photo of us from our First Embrace ceremony. In the picture, I wore a pure white silk gown, and there was still a light in my eyes.

Now, the face reflected in the glass was marred by dark, spidery veins, and my pupils held nothing but the stillness of despair.

Even Isabella's dressing room was four or five times more luxurious than this storage space.

Only the things she no longer wanted were tossed in here.

The chambers I should have shared with my Vow-mate had been converted into Isabella's private office a century ago.

It had the finest equipment, the most comfortable environment.

And I, the rightful wife, had been exiled to this windowless storage room.

The piercing ring of a cellphone suddenly shattered the dead silence, violently yanking me from my memories.

"Hello, this is Elysian Crypts Eternal Rest," a graceful female voice said. "Miss Seraphina, are you still in need of the 'Twilight Ash Ceremony' you inquired about?"

"If you place a deposit now, we can hold it for you for seven days. Otherwise, it will be offered to another noble awaiting their final slumber."

That was the resting ceremony I had looked into a month ago.

The altar would be covered in pure white rose petals.

An exquisite crystal censer would burn my favorite jasmine essential oil.

To turn to ash amidst a fragrant aroma as my bloodline faded, carried away on a scented wind.

It was the end I yearned for most.

Eighty thousand dollars.

I glanced at the few hundred dollars in my wallet and fell silent for a moment. "No, that won't be necessary. Thank you."

A vampire who couldn't even afford a low-grade potion to suppress her Bloodline Depletion couldn't even afford to die.

Just as I hung up, the sound of the door opening made me look up.

Damien strode in.

He was used to the faint, clean fragrance that permeated the manor, a unique scent of jasmine and something cool like moonlight that clung only to his Vow-mate.

Now, the stale, still air of this room repulsed him, filling him with an unexpected sense of loss.

His brow furrowed slightly, and he instinctively took a deep breath, trying to catch that familiar scent.

But there was nothing.

Only dust and mildew.

Damien quickly suppressed the discomfort. "What was that on the phone about a ceremony?" he demanded, glaring at me.

"Seraphina, I've told you," his voice was as cold as frost, "don't try to win sympathy by wishing death upon yourself. Do you find this amusing?"

I didn't want to say anything, but an instinctive explanation escaped my lips. "Damien, I wasn't…"

"You weren't what?" he cut me off, his tone growing harsher. "There's nothing to say between us. Don't even think about taking anything that belongs to Isabella."

"Some things were never meant to be yours."

My nose stung, and my fingers dug into my palms to stop the tears from falling.

In the past few days, I had cried more than in all my centuries of existence.

He said the celebration, the Vice President position, even all the love, belonged to Isabella.

But what about the things that were supposed to be mine? Had he forgotten them all?

I lifted my head and looked him straight in the eye. "I just want to ask you one question."

"Our two-hundredth anniversary. Do you even remember it?"

Damien's expression froze for a second. His gaze drifted unconsciously to the photograph on the table.

But he quickly looked away and said coldly, "What are you trying to say?"

"You promised me on our centennial that you would hold a proper bonding ceremony for me," my voice was soft. "But later, in front of the entire council of elders, you mocked my 'diluted' bloodline, saying I was unworthy to stand by your side."

"Every centennial birthday since then, you've found excuses to cast me aside," I gasped for breath. "But Isabella only has to try a new perfume for you to book an entire vampire-owned island to throw her a party."

"Seraphina," Damien's tone softened, perhaps out of guilt, "you're always so focused on these trivial details. We've lived for centuries. My love for you doesn't need to be proven by such things."

"I thought you would understand. If you're going to be this fragile and sensitive, you will only continue to disappoint me."

I watched the growing impatience in his eyes, felt the pressure of his princely authority.

So, in his eyes, everything I did was wrong.

My love, my devotion, my suffering, all of it was a mistake.

I said softly,

"You're right, Damien. I'm not good enough."

I turned my back to him, no longer looking.

"The safe is in the second drawer on the left. I've left something for you. It will unlock automatically in seventy-two hours."

He said nothing and left.

The midnight bell chimed, and the room returned to its dead silence.

I hugged the old, battered photo frame, feeling my life slip away, bit by bit.

Two days left.