Blessed By A Yandere Goddess

Ronan took Sarael by the arm and led her into the shadows until his invisibility took hold.

"Fly."

"...Fly?"

He didn’t answer with words. He lifted her off the ground and leapt, propelling them both into the sky with enough force to pierce the clouds.

The wind screamed past them for a single breathtaking moment before shadows coalesced beneath their feet, solidifying into a platform of darkness that caught them both.

Sarael blinked, her fingers tightening around his arm. The platform held firm, suspended above the cloud layer like a small island in an ocean of mist.

Ronan had learned of the ability some time ago, when curiosity had finally gotten the better of him and he’d asked Anastasia what she and Sarael did during their late-night outings.

Flying on shadow platforms had apparently been a regular occurrence.

"Ronan, what are you—?"

He didn’t reply. He only pointed toward the distance, where Sarael turned her head.

The moon hung there, bright and large.

Unlike the sun, the moon was one of the few bright things that didn’t leave Sarael squinting and irritable. It was her domain. Her element. The light she’d been born from, or created from, or whatever the truth of her origin actually was.

"The moon’s beautiful, isn’t it?"

Ronan said it plainly, without ceremony. But Sarael understood the weight behind it immediately.

Anastasia had taught her about phrases like that, the kind of things normal people said on dates when they wanted to say something else entirely.

She was supposed to be the one saying it. Not Ronan. He’d flipped her script completely.

Still, she didn’t mind.

"Y-Yeah, it is."

Sarael’s voice came out smaller than she intended. She wasn’t sure what to do with her hands. She’d planned everything so carefully. The dinner, the bath, the walk in the park, the fake memories they could bond over.

Hours of preparation, weeks of study, all of it arranged like pieces on a chessboard.

She hadn’t expected Ronan to break character. She hadn’t expected him to disrupt the immersion of her being the perfect wife.

"I appreciate the gift. Actually, no, I loved it. Having something normal for once felt good. Really good."

Ronan wasn’t exaggerating. After his grandmother’s death and his decision to become a hunter, normality had become impossible. He had been trying to make ends meet as a weak porter.

He lived on the cheapest food he could find and spent most of his money on job preparations. And once the actual work began, it became even farther from normal.

From his grandmother’s death to the hell of Tartarus-B, he had only truly begun to live when Sarael arrived.

Even with a few... hurdles, he had come to prefer it that way.

Sarael had made his life better, even if becoming a wanted fugitive had made that hard to see.

"But that doesn’t mean I want to erase everything we’ve been through. Or how we actually met. So let’s have tonight, but if we can, let’s be as truthful with each other as possible, okay?"

The moon seemed to swell in the silence that followed, or maybe that was just Sarael’s perception shifting as his words settled into her chest.

Erase everything they’d been through? She hadn’t considered that angle.

She’d wanted to give him a taste of normalcy, a single evening where he wasn’t a fugitive and she wasn’t a fallen goddess. But he was right.

Even if it was just pretend, even if it was only for one night, the thought of replacing their real memories with something fake left a bitter taste in her mouth.

This evening was supposed to be a fleeting moment. But what she really wanted was for this, the closeness, the domestic warmth, the feeling of being genuinely seen, to become their actual life

"I’d love that."

"Good, I want to be on a date with the real Sarael. Not a random human wife who suspiciously looks and acts like Sarael."

✧ ✧ ✧

They stayed on the platform for a while longer, neither of them in a hurry to descend. Ronan pointed out landmarks he recognized from his porter days.

A warehouse where he’d once delivered supplies for a C-Rank raid. A rooftop where he’d eaten lunch between jobs, his legs dangling over the edge while he counted his earnings and tried to figure out if he’d have enough for rent that month.

And Sarael listened to every story. She asked questions about it all: simple questions, but genuine ones.

In turn, she told him about her outings with Anastasia. The malls they’d visited, the clothes they’d tried on, the conversations they’d had about romance and relationships and what "normal" women actually did.

She admitted, with some embarrassment, that most of her research had come from romance novels and internet forums that Anastasia had warned her were "probably not entirely realistic."

"Anastasia said I shouldn’t take everything I read online as truth."

Sarael admitted, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve.

"But some of the stories were very detailed. I thought they must be based on something real."

"Some of them probably are. Some of them definitely aren’t."

Ronan chuckled.

"Which ones did you read?"

"The ones where the wife greets her husband at the door with dinner ready and a massage prepared. Also the ones where the husband carries his wife to bed after a long day. And the ones where they go on late-night walks and talk about their feelings under the stars."

She paused, her brow furrowing slightly.

"There were also ones with significantly more... physical content. But Anastasia said those were for ’advanced study’ and made me promise not to practice them without warning you first."

"Probably good advice."

✧ ✦ ✧

They descended a few minutes later, the shadow platform dissolving as Ronan carried Sarael back toward the ground in a controlled fall that landed them softly on the outskirts of the park.

Sarael seemed noticeably less bold now. Her carefully constructed plan had been thoroughly dismantled, and without the roleplay to hide behind, she wasn’t quite sure what to do with her hands. Or her words.

Or any part of herself.

Ronan noticed immediately. He reached over and patted her head, his palm resting against her hair with the same casual affection he’d developed over months of dealing with her.

"Ronan... do you want to grab a bite to eat?"

She asked it tentatively, like she was testing whether the offer was still allowed now that the script had been thrown out.

Ronan smiled. Of course she’d choose food. Eating at convenience stores and barbecue joints had been her first real introduction to human society, back when everything was new and she’d stare at chips like they were ancient artifacts.

That, and she hadn’t actually eaten dinner. She’d been too busy watching him eat hers.

"I know a good Chinese place downtown. I don’t think you’ve tried it before."

Sarael’s eyes brightened. The uncertainty in her posture didn’t vanish entirely, but it loosened.

"I haven’t. What kind of food is it?"

"You’ll see. They do this thing with noodles where the chef spins the dough in the air before cooking it. It’s kind of a show."

"A show? While you eat?"

"Yeah, you’ll probably like it."

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