Blessed By A Yandere Goddess

The prince left not long after, saying he’d return when the time was right. As soon as he was gone, Sarael didn’t hesitate to sink into Ronan’s shadows.

She was doing it often now, which only confused Ronan further. It was almost like the first time they had met, when she kept disappearing.

’I wonder what she’s up to...’

He thought, now deathly curious after all the signs of Sarael’s suspicious behavior. But he couldn’t just ask her; she looked far too giddy and focused.

Ronan didn’t want to ruin the surprise.

✧ ✦ ✧

Inside Ronan’s shadow, space stretched endlessly, an expanse of darkness that seemed to lead into infinity. It was Sarael’s realm.

She had been trapped there for years, ever since Ronan’s grandmother died, and was only freed when Ronan remembered her.

What began as a place of loneliness had become the place where Sarael’s obsession ran wild, a side of her she wouldn’t even show Ronan.

"Ronan... he was so cool today~!"

She bit into her thumb, drawing violet blood as her pupils shifted into hearts.

The shadows around her writhed and pulsed with her excitement, forming shapes that dissolved just as quickly.

Ronan’s face. Ronan’s hands. Ronan’s silhouette standing in the snow while he planned.

"He’s gotten so strong. So confident. So..."

She hugged herself, rolling through the void like a lovestruck teenager on a bed, except the bed was infinite darkness and she was an ancient goddess.

"I would have kissed him right there, bled for him right there..."

The shadows giggled with her, a chorus of her own voice echoing back from every direction.

"But I didn’t. I held back. I’m getting so good at holding back~"

She’d been working on that. Letting Ronan take the lead and handle things while she supported him from the shadows instead of choking everyone who looked at him wrong.

It was difficult. Incredibly difficult. Every day, she woke up and chose not to murder someone who mildly inconvenienced her husband, and she deserved credit for that.

But the gift. The gift was going to make it all worth it.

Sarael floated through the void toward a corner of her realm where she’d been keeping her materials.

Outfits she’d copied from magazines Ronan had stared at. Elven designs she’d memorized during their walk through Frostheim. The way Anastasia had looked at the prince when she thought no one was watching.

That last one was the key.

Sarael had spent three weeks studying Anastasia, the first human woman she’d ever really talked to. And what she’d learned was that normal women didn’t obsess the way she did.

They were... restrained.

Playful.

They teased and flirted and let the tension build instead of tackling their husbands the moment they walked through the door.

Sarael didn’t fully understand why anyone would choose that approach. But she trusted Anastasia’s advice. The girl had grown up in high society, surrounded by romance and courtship rituals.

If anyone knew how human women acted, it was her.

So Sarael had been practicing.

Every time she wanted to cling to Ronan, she held back. Every time she wanted to threaten someone, she let him handle it. Every time she wanted to drag him into bed, she smiled mysteriously and said "not yet."

And Ronan’s reactions had been...

Perfect.

He missed her. He wanted her. He was getting frustrated and needy and possessive, and Sarael had never been happier in her entire existence.

"The gift is almost ready."

She whispered to herself, weaving shadows between her fingers like thread.

"Just a little more. Just a little longer."

She spread her arms, and the shadows around her bloomed into a dozen different shapes.

Herself, dressed in every outfit she’d ever seen Ronan’s eyes linger on. Herself, posed the way Anastasia had taught her. Herself, looking human and normal and approachable instead of like a goddess who’d tear the world apart for one man.

"One night."

She promised her reflection.

"One night where I act like a normal wife. A normal human wife."

A normal human wife. That was something Ronan’s grandmother had often spoken about in her stories. Sarael understood the relationship between worshipper and goddess.

But as a wife and husband, she was still oblivious to it.

Ronan had given her a glimpse, but she wanted more. So she had concluded that humanity was the best way to find it.

She wanted to feel the same serene expression Ronan’s grandmother always wore when speaking about her late husband.

She wanted it for herself, and everything she did was for that perfect moment.

Sarael was fixated on becoming a "human wife."

But even her definition of it was already twisted, no matter what Anastasia or Ronan’s grandmother had described. She could never love normally like that, at least not yet.

"Ronan..."

Sarael bit her thumb again, feeling a needy ache between her legs. She had been holding back for so long, trying to be witty, funny, and normal instead of wanting to devour her husband whole.

It was starting to get to her.

But Anastasia’s words were still holding her back: let your husband want you, make him miss you.

And then there were Anastasia’s final words, spoken with visible hesitation and a blush.

"Then he’ll... devour you? I don’t know...!"

That was exactly what she had said.

Sarael bit her thumb harder, violet blood welling up and dripping into the void. The shadows lapped at it like hungry animals.

Devour.

The word echoed through her realm, bouncing off infinite darkness. Anastasia had meant it as a figure of speech, a clumsy metaphor for passion. But Sarael’s mind didn’t work in metaphors.

She wanted Ronan to devour her. Literally, figuratively, spiritually, every possible interpretation of the word. She wanted to be consumed and to consume in return until there was no boundary between them.

That was what love meant to a goddess of obsession.

"Just as soon as we’re both alone. No frontier, no Anastasia, and finally, I can get what I want~"

"Just have to wait a little longer..."

She whispered, pressing her thighs together.

"A little longer, and then I can show him everything."

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