The Daughter Who Couldn't be Caged
Lucien
I had forgotten what he looked like over the centuries.
Not because time had dulled the memory—no, time didn’t dare touch him. But because no memory could hold him fully. He was too perfect in all the wrong ways. The kind of perfection you didn't just worship, but endured.
His golden skin was unmarred by age or consequence. His white robes were so pristine that they made the world around him feel sullied by comparison. Eyes like ice over deep water—still, but merciless. And when he smiled, it was like being judged by something that had never once considered mercy necessary.
And yet…
Madeline stood beside me, her shoulders squared, jaw set—a spark cast in a mortal shape.
She had his cheekbones.
His eyes, though hers burned brighter than hi
