Rogue: The Reluctant Hero by Jade Gretz

https://www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai/art/Rogue-The-Reluctant-Hero-1260246376

Rogue: The Reluctant Hero ANIMATION

The Kiss That Devours

Rogue had always known silence could cut deeper than a scream.
But the silence in the abandoned outskirts of Ravensworth—an old mill town swallowed by kudzu, rust, and half-remembered tragedies—felt like it breathed against her skin, whispering promises in the dark.

She stood at the cracked edge of a forgotten bridge, gloved fingers gripping the railing. The river below was slow and slick as old oil. Moonlight caught its surface and refracted in strange, trembling shards, as though something moved beneath.

Something watching.

Rogue pulled her coat closer. The autumn air was cold, but that wasn’t what made her shiver.

It was the voice she’d heard the night before.

“Ah can give yah what yah want most.”

Words delivered in a velvet drawl that felt like fingertips stroking down her spine.

Words no one should have known how to form—because she had never spoken her want aloud.

Freedom.
Touch.
The simple grace of a hand against hers without fear of draining a life dry.

She exhaled, watching her breath bloom pale in the moonlight.

“Well,” she muttered to herself, “Ah came this far. Might as well see which nightmare got my number.”

The river rippled.

Then—something rose from it.

A shape first.
Then a man—or something very close to one—emerged from the water as though stepping through a curtain instead of surfacing. His coat was old, dark, saturated with shadows. His hair, long and silver-black, clung wet to his shoulders. Eyes gleamed amber, liquid as melted resin.

He looked like the ghost of a poet drowned for his beauty.

“Evenin’, Rogue,” he said, voice smooth as candle soot. “Sorry for the dramatic entrance. I find water suits my… temperament.”

“You’re not human,” she said.

He smiled. A slow, aching curve of lips that felt like a secret turning over.

“No.”

“Demon, then?”

“Closer to bargain than blasphemy.”
His long fingers swept water from his coat. “You may call me Caedran.”

“Why me?”

“You’re lonely.”

Rogue’s jaw tightened. “Plenty of lonely people out there.”

“Mm,” Caedran murmured, stepping closer. “But few whose loneliness rings so loud in the bones of the world. Yours is a hunger carved in silence. A yearning wrapped in leather gloves and careful avoidance.”
His voice dropped.
“And a fear that your touch is the end of all things.”

She stepped back despite herself.

Caedran’s smile softened into something almost tender. “I’m not mocking you. I’m admiring your restraint.”

“Don’t.” Her throat felt tight.

“I won’t.” He raised both hands in a gesture of peace. “But I will offer you something. Something… exquisite.”

“And what would that be?”

“The ability to touch.”

The words hit her like a physical blow.

“Skin to skin,” Caedran said softly. “For as long as you desire. No absorption. No danger. No guilt. No fear.”

Rogue swallowed, mouth dry. “Sounds too good to be real.”

“Oh, it’s entirely real.”

“And the price?”

Caedran stepped into the moonlight. Shadows clung to him like living ink.

“Each embrace you give,” he said, “each hand you hold, each kiss you take… gifts me a sliver of your soul.”

Rogue laughed—short, incredulous, trembling. “You’re kidding.”

“I don’t joke about souls.” Caedran tilted his head. “You’d lose nothing at first. A fragment so small you wouldn’t feel it. But over time, with enough affection… you would fade. Not die. Not vanish. But become something beautifully hollow.”

He traced a finger through the air, leaving a faint ember trail.
“An echo.”

Rogue stared at him. “Why offer me a curse dressed up as comfort?”

He leaned closer. His presence felt like warm smoke wrapping around her skin.

“Because I collect stories,” he whispered.
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