My Wives are Beautiful Demons

The heavy clouds tinged the sky with pale shades of gray and violet. A soft mist stretched between the ancient tombs, dancing slowly among the darkened stone gravestones. The muffled sound of footsteps on the gravel interrupted the melancholy silence of the afternoon.

Alexa walked calmly, holding a small bouquet of white lilies wrapped in a black ribbon. She wore a simple dress, a dark overcoat, and boots that sank slightly into the damp earth. Even her cheerful orange hair seemed dead and tired. The wind blew lightly, blowing her hair back and revealing tired but steady eyes.

Next to the iron gate, leaning on a shovel with a lit cigarette in the corner of his mouth, the gravedigger watched silently. He was a tall man with weather-beaten skin and yellow eyes that shone even under the shadow of his hood. Despite his aged appearance, there was something... ancient about him. Wild. Almost feral.

"You're back, girl..." he said in a hoarse, deep voice as he took the cigarette out of his mouth and stubbed it out with his fingers, unconcerned by the heat.

Alexa paused beside him for a moment, looking into the cemetery as if staring into a familiar abyss.

"Today... it's been thirteen years."

The old werewolf nodded slowly, respectfully. "I remember the day I buried her. Heavy rain that night. The earth seemed unwilling to receive her..."

"She never liked standing still for long." Alexa replied with a small, sad smile.

"She wasn't an ordinary woman. The last time we talked, she threatened to slit my throat if I didn't stop digging 'like a lazy bum'. A true lady."

The two laughed briefly, but the laughter died quickly, swallowed up by the memory of emptiness.

Alexa continued walking among the gravestones, while the gravedigger followed her with his gaze, respectful, like a silent guardian. She stopped in front of a clean, simple black stone tomb. There was a small rune mark in the center—the seal of her former home.

"Valentina Elizabeth Wykes."

The words on the epitaph were worn but still legible.

"Here lies a Wolf in Sheep's Clothing. A mother, a warrior, immortalized in the memory of those who still resist."

Alexa knelt down, brushed away some leaves that had fallen on the gravestone, and carefully placed the lilies on the ground.

"Hi, Mom," she said, her voice trembling but without tears. "Sorry it took so long. So many things happening... I didn't want to come here like this... But I know you would see all this with those sharp eyes of yours and tell me to stop being so dramatic."

She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath.

"I still haven't forgiven my father. And I don't think I ever will, after all, he doesn't deserve it. I've accepted that you're never coming back, it hurts... It hurts a lot... And I just wanted you to know that no matter how much the world changes... I'm still your daughter. Until the end."

The wind blew again, stronger. A white feather fell from the sky and landed on the gravestone. Alexa picked it up gently, staring at it in silence. "I see you in my dreams... and sometimes when I'm awake."

She stood up slowly, brushing her hands to remove the dirt. The gravedigger was waiting for her at the entrance, already wearing a coat thrown over his shoulders and holding a bottle of something old and strong in his hand.

"You've stayed long enough. It's going to start getting dark." He commented.

"The night has never been a problem for me, old wolf." She replied, approaching him.

He handed her the bottle with a knowing gesture. "She would have liked to see the woman you've become. And hated to know you still drink this stuff."

Alexa smiled sidelong, raising the bottle toward the grave in the distance. "To the most stubborn woman who ever walked this earth. Cheers."

She sat down on a stone bench, cracking her shoulders with a slight weariness. The smell of wet earth was comforting. Familiar.

"Dumaz... How is... the Kingdom of the Werewolves?" she asked, without looking at him.

Dumaz sighed. The sound was like the creaking of old wood. He took a swig straight from the bottle before answering.

"Bad," he said simply. "They're trying to keep up appearances. But the people know. The prince's blood is still flowing, after all, he's completely disappeared. They think he's dead, since his last appearance was... at the castle under attack by the Vampires."

Alexa didn't react for a moment. She just crossed her legs and watched the white feather between her fingers.

"So it's working."

Dumaz frowned suspiciously. "Working?"

She looked at him. The smile that spread across her face was soft... but cold. "I am responsible for the death of my traitorous brother."

The old werewolf fell silent. The bottle stopped halfway to his mouth.

"He tried to kill me a while ago. He killed my entire pack and left me. So I went after him and... I tortured my brother until he begged to die..." she said, her voice weightless, as if she were merely narrating the weather. "But I left that to someone else. He deserved the finishing touch of something... purer. My Vergil took care of that for me."

Dumaz didn't respond immediately. The words seemed to freeze the air around them. The fog grew thicker, the world a little quieter.

"You are aware of what this means, aren't you?" he said, his voice low and deep, like distant thunder. "This is more than revenge. It's war. Between clans. Between races."

Alexa looked up at the sky. A faint opening in the clouds revealed a ray of warm light.

"I gave them a chance to do the right thing. To turn away from the old ways. But they insisted on following monsters. On worshipping weaknesses inherited from a failed empire. My brother had allied himself with a group that sought something greater, destruction. If they want to blame me for killing the rotten fruit, then let them blame me."

She stood up and handed the feather to the wind, which gently carried it away.

"You can sell this information as you wish, I will be free in two weeks to be summoned to our kingdom to answer for this 'crime'. Tell the old man that... My brother made his own choices. And I made mine."

Dumaz rubbed his face with one hand, the weight of age falling on his shoulders.

"Your mother... would have hated this." Alexa just shook her head. Her gaze hardened. "She would understand and encourage me. One thing she hates is betrayal."

She walked back toward the gate, her steps steady, as if the fog parted of its own accord.

"Take care of her grave for me, Dumaz."

"I always have."

"And if the wolves start howling after me..." Alexa turned her face away, her eyes shining like contained fire. "...tell them I'm abandoning our race, I'm going to live as I am."

Dumaz stood behind her, watching her leave, and turned his face toward that grave... he stared for a few seconds before sighing and murmuring... "Valentina... why did you have a daughter just like you..."