Elara Monroe pressed her palm against the cold glass of her apartment's bay window. Below, traffic lights blinked like distant constellations lining the city's concrete horizon. She inhaled, tasting the sharp tang of search-forged hope and the metallic tang of fear.
At twenty‑seven, Elara was both steward and last defender of Monroe & Monroe Enterprises, once a prestigious import house now drowning in creditors' demands. Yesterday's call from her father's hospital bed still echoed in her mind: "Promise me you won't let our name vanish." She closed her eyes against the memory.
Turning, she noticed the envelope perched on her desk, ivory with silver-trimmed edges and sealed by dark wax stamped with a crescent moon entwined by thorned vines. No return address. No sender. Curiosity warred with dread as she broke the seal.
Inside lay two sheets of parchment. The first bore a flowing script in ink that seemed to shimmer:
I, Aldric Vale, Lord of the Shadow Court,extend this contract to Elara Monroe, heir of Monroe & Monroe.Bind yourself as my Bride under the Full Moon's Embrace,and I shall restore your legacy and bestow powers beyond mortal ken.
Elara's heartbeat thundered. Her fingers trembled as she flipped to the second page, where terms were laid out in crisp bullet points:
Terms of the Moonlit Contract
The Bride must answer the Lord's summons at each full moon.
The Bride must wear the Ring of Binding in his presence.
Failure to comply will see her blood nourish the Shadow Court.
Breaking the bond before three full moons will forfeit her soul for eternity.
A final line, in curling midnight script: "Seal your acceptance beneath the moonlight or meet your doom."
Logic screamed for her to discard the parchment, alert the authorities, call her lawyer—but desperation had never been rational. She retrieved the silver moonstone ring tucked in her jewelry box—a keepsake from her late mother. Its surface glowed faintly as she slid it onto her finger.
Pressing the ring against the parchment, warmth unfurled through her veins. The ink pulsed, transferring from dull silver to inky onyx. A surprising breeze rattled the window panes, though the storm outdoor was miles away.
Elara stumbled back as the two pages coalesced into a ring of shadow hovering above her desk. Through its center, she saw a vaulted hall lit by violet torches and towering obsidian columns. On a dais carved from black marble sat a man whose very presence seemed to drink the light—tall, dark-haired, with eyes like molten night.
Before fear could claim her voice, the shadow ring dissolved. The contract fluttered back onto the desk, edges singed. Elara sank into her chair, chest heaving, mind racing.
In the heavy silence, she realized a single truth: she had signed her destiny.
Three nights until the next full moon. Three nights to prepare—or to perish.