Court of the Cursed

The courtroom air was heavy, an almost tangible tension settling over the room. Abigail Russo sat with a poised elegance, her deep-necked blue dress seeming to shimmer faintly under the light, her lips curled into a slight smirk that spoke of secrets untold.

"Ms. Russo," Mathew began, his voice carrying a calm authority that cut through the whispers in the gallery. "You stand accused of the disappearance of five young men, each last seen in your company. Do you understand the charges brought against you?"

Abigail tilted her head, her dark eyes fixed on Mathew. "I do, Your Honor," she replied smoothly, her voice as intoxicating as a glass of fine wine.

"Do you plead guilty or not guilty?"

"Not guilty, Your Honor," she said, her lips curling into a faint smile.

Mathew studied her closely, his dark eyes narrowing. There it was—that subtle flicker. A shadow danced across her features, something no one else in the room could see. To the rest of the court, Abigail Russo was a stunning, confident woman. But to Mathew, she was something else entirely.

Her beauty was a mask, her human form merely a façade. Beneath it, he could see the faint outline of a creature most would call a nightmare. Her skin shimmered faintly with an otherworldly hue, her eyes glowed with a predatory gleam, and faint, curling horns rose from her temples. A succubus.

It wasn't the first time Mathew had encountered such a being. Since he was a child, he'd possessed the ability to see beyond the veil, to glimpse the truth that lay hidden from mortal eyes. It was a gift, though often it felt more like a curse.

"Ms. Russo," the prosecutor began, rising from his seat. "Each of these men was last seen leaving a nightclub in your company. Witnesses place you with them shortly before their disappearance. What do you say to that?"

Abigail turned her gaze to the prosecutor, her smile widening. "I say that I enjoy good company, Mr. Hughes. Is that a crime?"

Laughter rippled through the gallery, quickly silenced by Mathew's gavel.

"Order in the court," he said firmly, though his eyes never left Abigail. She glanced back at him, her expression one of mock innocence, but he could feel the dark power radiating from her.

The prosecutor continued, unfazed. "A search of your apartment revealed personal belongings of the victims. How do you explain that?"

Abigail's smile didn't falter. "They were gifts," she said sweetly. "Men are so eager to leave something behind when they think they're in love."

Another murmur swept through the room, but Mathew's focus was elsewhere. Beneath her words, he felt the tendrils of her magic, subtle but insidious, attempting to weave a spell of charm and misdirection. It slid through the courtroom like a haze, dulling the senses of everyone present.

Everyone but him.

"Enough," Mathew interrupted, his voice cutting through the spell like a blade. The room went silent. Abigail's eyes flicked to him, and for the first time, her smile wavered.

"Your Honor?" she asked, her voice laced with feigned innocence.

"You'll answer the prosecutor's questions directly, Ms. Russo," Mathew said, his tone sharp. His gaze pierced through her, and he saw the mask crack, if only for a moment.

Her eyes flashed with something primal, something dangerous. But then she laughed softly, a sound like velvet. "Of course, Your Honor," she said, her voice dripping with honey.

The prosecutor continued, presenting evidence and calling witnesses, but Mathew's attention remained fixed on Abigail. Her every movement, every word was calculated, designed to distract, to manipulate. But beneath the surface, he could feel the truth—a darkness that pulsed like a heartbeat, a hunger that couldn't be satiated.

When the prosecutor finished, Mathew leaned forward slightly, his voice calm but firm. "Ms. Russo, do you have anything to say in your defense?"

Abigail stood, her movements slow and deliberate, the room holding its collective breath as she walked to the stand. Her dress clung to her form, her every step a performance.

She turned to the jury, her gaze sweeping over them like a caress. "I am not a monster," she said, her voice low and melodic. "I am a woman who has been misunderstood, accused without proof, and judged before my story is heard."

Her words carried a strange weight, a power that seemed to wrap around the jury like a cocoon. Mathew saw it for what it was—dark magic, subtle but potent, seeping into their minds.

But when her eyes met his, she faltered. He stared at her with unflinching resolve, his gift shielding him from her spell. He saw the demon within, the predator that hid beneath her perfect exterior.

Abigail's smile returned, but this time, it was different—strained, uncertain. "And you, Your Honor?" she asked softly, her voice carrying a challenge. "Do you believe I'm a monster?"

The courtroom fell silent, every eye on Mathew. For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze locked with hers.

"I believe," he said finally, his voice low but resolute, "that the truth has a way of revealing itself, no matter how deeply it's buried."

Abigail's smile faded, and for the first time, Mathew saw a flicker of something in her eyes. Fear.

The gavel struck, signaling the end of the day's proceedings. But Mathew knew this was only the beginning. The real battle was yet to come, and it would be fought not in the courtroom, but in the shadows where demons thrived.