Chapter 1: The Divide The Divide stretched between worlds — a shimmer of ancient magic, a veil of light and shadow where no foot was meant to cross. On one side: Hell, a realm of fire and stone, its sky bruised with dark clouds, its air filled with the scent of ash and scorched earth. Rivers of molten rock cut through the jagged ground like veins, and towers of black obsidian loomed like teeth against the horizon. On the other: Heaven, a kingdom of eternal dawn, where the air tasted of sunlight and honey, and meadows of silvergrass rippled beneath a sky of soft gold. Crystal towers spiraled upward, and flocks of doves soared between floating citadels. And there, at the border between worlds, stood a demon. Grim. He watched in silence as the angel walked along the Divide. She had come for the past seven nights — always at dusk, always alone. Her hair was the color of sunlight poured over snow, her wings a delicate blaze of white and gold. She moved as though the world itself bent to let her pass, her feet barely stirring the grass. Grim was not supposed to feel curiosity. He was a demon of war — forged in blood, raised in fire. His purpose was to conquer, not to wonder. And yet, when his burning eyes met hers across the veil, something inside him — something old, something long-buried — stirred. Heather. That was her name. He did not know how he knew it; perhaps it had drifted to him on the wind, or perhaps the veil itself whispered it to him in his dreams. Grim stepped closer to the Divide, boots crunching over blackened stone. His clawed hand twitched at his side. He told himself he only wanted a better look. But when Heather lifted her gaze — when those pale blue eyes met his across the shimmering wall — Grim felt his heart lurch in his chest, like a dying star pulsing one last time. And in that moment, without a word spoken, the world began to change. Chapter 2: First Glimpse Heather had always been restless. While her sisters bathed in the Rivers of Mercy or sang in the Gardens of Dawn, Heather wandered. She walked the outer edges of Heaven, where the light grew thin, where the veil between worlds rippled like a mirage. She told herself it was only curiosity — a desire to see where Heaven ended. But deep down, Heather knew it was more. She had seen the demon before. At first, it was only a shadow — a figure standing on the far side of the Divide, still as stone, eyes like embers in the dark. She should have been afraid. She should have turned back. But something about the way he watched her, the way he stayed night after night, made her heart ache with a strange, sharp longing. Tonight, Heather stopped at the very edge of the Divide. The veil pulsed softly between them, a trembling curtain of gold and black. She lifted a hand, fingertips hovering just above the shimmer. The demon stepped forward. Heather’s breath caught in her throat. Up close, he was devastating — tall, broad-shouldered, with horns that curled back from his temples like polished obsidian. His skin was the color of burnt copper, his black hair wild, his mouth a grim line. Scars crisscrossed his arms and throat, and the weight of centuries burned in his gaze. Heather felt her pulse flutter. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then the demon lowered his head, just slightly — a gesture so subtle, so human, it broke something inside her. And though it made no sense, though every law of Heaven and Hell screamed against it, Heather smiled. Chapter 3: Silent Curiosity Grim waited for her. Night after night, he found himself returning to the Divide, pacing the edge of the veil like a restless beast. He told himself it was madness — that no demon should waste time watching an angel. But when Heather appeared, the storm inside his chest quieted. Tonight, she sat cross-legged in the grass, her wings folded neatly at her back, her golden hair braided loosely down one shoulder. She hummed a soft tune under her breath, a song so beautiful it made Grim’s throat ache. He lowered himself to the ground, resting his elbows on his knees, his claws idly dragging through the ash. He watched her, etching small spirals into the dirt, his gaze flicking up every now and then to meet hers. They didn’t speak.They didn’t need to. The silence between them was a language all its own — a careful dance of glances, smiles, and soft laughter that transcended words. Far above, unseen by either of them, eyes watched from both realms. In Heaven, Azrael, Archangel of Judgment, frowned into the pools of prophecy. In Hell, Lilith, Queen of Shadows, stirred in her throne of bone and whispered to her courtiers. The balance was shifting.And neither Grim nor Heather had any idea....
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