I came from the apocalypse.
Someone who crawled out of a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood believes in no fate, only the blade in their hand.
The day I transmigrated into the body of a concubine's daughter sent off for a political marriage, I laid eyes on my sickly husband.
He coughed blood. He was pale. He wouldn't live more than three years.
But I smelled it: the stench of decay from the apocalypse clung to him.
There was a demon in his eyes.
Later, he pinned me against the wall. His eyes turned gold, and his voice sounded like someone else:
"You knew all along, didn't you?"
"Then do you know that you are the one I've been waiting for?"
