Damsel to the Demon

1. Mercedes

1

MERCEDES

T he needle pricks my finger for the hundredth time, but I barely notice. My eyes are fixed on the simple white dress spread before me, a canvas of hopes and dreams stitched together over countless nights.

"Just one more..." I mutter, threading the needle through delicate fabric.

To the average bridezilla, the dress isn't much to look at. No fancy lace or shimmering beads. Just a plain white gown, lovingly crafted from scraps I've collected over months. But to me, it's everything.

I smooth my hand over the skirt, picturing how it will look as I walk down the aisle.

Will he smile when he sees me?

My heart flutters at the thought.

A knock at the door startles me from my reverie.

"Mercedes? You in there?"

"Come in, Marta!"

The door creaks open and Marta, the town's eldest resident, shuffles inside. Her eyes widen as she takes in the dress.

"Oh, child. It's beautiful."

I beam with pride. "You really think so? I tried to make it just like you described."

Marta nods, running her gnarled fingers over the fabric. "White as snow, just like in the old days. You've done well, Mercedes."

"I just hope it's enough," I say, biting my lip. "I want everything to be perfect."

Marta chuckles. "Perfect? In this world? You're lucky to have a wedding at all, girl."

She's right, of course. Most humans don't bother with such frivolities anymore. But I can't help myself. The stories Marta's told me of grand celebrations, of love and hope... I want a piece of that, even if it's just for one day.

As Marta helps me into the dress, my mind drifts to Thomas. I remember the day we met, two scrawny kids sneaking off to play in the wheat fields. We'd spend hours chasing each other through the golden stalks, our laughter echoing across the land. Even then, I felt something special with him.

Years passed, and our friendship deepened. Thomas was there when I lost my mother, holding me as I cried and I stood by him when his father was taken for the dark elves' labor camps. Through it all, our bond only grew stronger.

"There," Marta says, smoothing the fabric. "You're ready."

I twirl, watching the skirt flare out. "How do I look?"

Marta's eyes mist over. "Like hope itself, child. Like hope itself."

Another knock interrupts our moment. My heart leaps - I know that steady, firm rap anywhere.

"Come in, Papa!"

The door swings open, and there he stands. My father, tall and broad-shouldered, fills the doorframe. His weathered face breaks into a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes.

"Look at you," he says, voice gruff with emotion. "My little girl, all grown up."

I rush to him, careful not to wrinkle the dress. His arms wrap around me, strong and secure. The familiar scent of pine and leather envelops me, bringing back memories of childhood hunts and late-night stories by the fire.

"You look beautiful, Mercedes," he whispers, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

I step back, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. "Really? You like it?"

He nods, eyes shining. "Your mother would be so proud."

The mention of Mama makes my throat tighten. I wish she could be here, but I know she's watching over us.

"I have something for you," Papa says, reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a delicate silver chain with a small, polished stone pendant. "It was your mother's. She wanted you to have it on your wedding day."

The tears I've been holding back spill over. "Oh, Papa..."

He fastens the necklace around my neck, his calloused hands gentle against my skin. The stone rests cool against my collarbone, a tangible link to the mother I lost too soon.

"Thank you," I whisper, touching the pendant reverently.

Papa clears his throat, clearly fighting his own emotions. "Now, are you ready to get married?"

I nod, a smile breaking through my tears. "More than ready."

He offers his arm, and I take it, feeling like a princess from one of Marta's tales. As we step out of the room, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The simple white dress, the precious necklace, my father's proud smile - it's more perfect than I ever dreamed.

For this moment, I forget about the dark elves, the hardships, the uncertain future.

Today, I'm just a bride, walking towards love and hope.

Papa leads me down the narrow stairs of our home, my heart racing with each step. The worn wooden floorboards creak beneath our feet, a familiar sound that grounds me in this surreal moment.

Our small living room has been transformed. Wildflowers picked from the nearby fields adorn every surface, their sweet scent filling the air. A handful of mismatched chairs face the far wall, where Old Marta stands, her wizened face beaming.

I scan the room, taking in the familiar faces. Aunt Lena dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief, while Uncle Jace gives me a reassuring wink. My childhood friend, Elena, grins from ear to ear, bouncing her toddler on her knee.

And then I see him. Thomas. My best friend, my love, my soon-to-be husband. He stands at the end of our makeshift aisle, his smile brighter than any sun I've ever seen. My breath catches in my throat.

He looks so handsome. I can’t believe this is really happening!

He's wearing his best shirt - the one with only a single patch on the elbow - and his cleanest pair of trousers. To anyone else, he might look ordinary. But to me, he's the most handsome man in the world. I can’t believe I get to marry him.

Papa squeezes my arm gently, and we begin our walk. Each step brings me closer to Thomas, closer to our future together. His eyes never leave mine, and I feel a blush creep up my cheeks.

When we reach him, Papa places my hand in Thomas's. The familiar calluses of his palm against mine send a shiver down my spine.

"Thomas," Papa says, his voice gruff with emotion. "You take care of my little girl, you hear?"

"Yes, sir," he replies, his gaze still locked on mine. "With my life."

Papa nods, satisfied, and steps back. And suddenly, it's just Thomas and me, standing before Old Marta and our tiny gathering of loved ones.

"You look beautiful," he whispers, his eyes shining.

I can't help but grin. "You clean up pretty well yourself."

He chuckles, the sound wrapping around me like a warm blanket. It's the same laugh I've known since we were children, sneaking off to play in the fields. The same laugh that's comforted me through every hardship, every loss. And now, it's the laugh I'll wake up to every morning for the rest of our lives.

Marta clears her throat, drawing our attention. Her eyes twinkle as she begins the ceremony, her voice cracking with age but filled with warmth.

"We gather here today to witness the union of Mercedes and Thomas," she says, her words wrapping around us like a comforting embrace.

I squeeze his hands, my heart swelling with joy. This is real. This is happening. Despite everything, we've found our slice of happiness.

"Mercedes," Thomas begins, his voice low and earnest. "From the moment we met as children, I knew you were special. Your kindness, your strength, your unwavering hope... you make me want to be better. To fight harder. To dream bigger."

Tears prick at my eyes as he continues, "I promise to stand by your side, through every storm and every victory. To love you fiercely and completely, for all of our days."

I take a shaky breath, ready to pour out my heart in return. "Thomas, you've been my rock, my shelter, my?—"

The door crashes open with a thunderous bang.

Time seems to slow as I turn, my white dress swirling around me. Five dark elves stride into our home, their black armor glinting in the dim light. Their faces are cold, impassive, as they survey the scene before them.

"What's going on here?" the dark elf captain demands, his voice like ice.

The room falls deathly silent. I feel Thomas's grip on my hands tighten protectively. Aunt Lena gasps, clutching her handkerchief to her mouth. Uncle Jace stands, his fists clenched at his sides. Elena hugs her child close, fear etched across her face.

Papa steps forward, his shoulders squared. "It's a wedding, sir. We have permission for this gathering."

The captain's eyes narrow, sweeping over our modest decorations, our handful of guests. His gaze lingers on me, taking in my simple white dress. A sneer tugs at his lips.

"A wedding?" he scoffs. "How... quaint."

I swallow hard, fighting to keep my voice steady. "Please, sir. We're not causing any trouble. We just want?—"

"Silence, human," he snaps, cutting me off. "I don't recall giving permission for such frivolity."

He strides forward, his armor clanking ominously in our tiny living room. The scent of leather and metal overwhelms the sweet perfume of wildflowers. I feel Thomas shift slightly, angling his body to shield me.

"Who gave you permission to marry, girl?" The captain's gaze pins me in place.

My heart plummets as the dark elf captain's cold eyes bore into me. The joy of moments ago evaporates, replaced by a chill that seeps into my bones.

What is he doing here? This can't be happening.

My mouth goes dry. "I... we thought..."

"You thought wrong," he snarls. "Humans don't get married. They breed when told, nothing more."