A truce perhaps?

 
It wasn’t a truce.It wasn’t trust.It was necessity.
She came again.
Not for love. Not to tempt.
But because something was hunting her.
The Beauty from the East, once untouchable in her own land, now found herself cornered by monsters darker than her story. The east had turned on her. Envy that once killed her now gave birth to imitators—copies that craved her title, her power, her beauty.
And so she fled.
Not to the heavens. Not to the living.
But to him.
The Lover from Hell did not greet her when she arrived at the scorched plains. He never did.But he didn’t drive her out either.
That was his mercy.
She sat beneath the ashen trees, watching him, his back turned, always facing that same grave.
Days passed.
She didn’t speak. Neither did he.But no creature dared cross into his land.
Not when his fire blanketed the borders.Not when even gods whispered his name with fear.
So she stayed.
Each time her enemies grew bold, she returned to the only place monsters feared more than her. And the only man who did not look at her beauty like a prize.
One day, she tried to thank him. Softly.
“You keep me alive,” she said, gloves folding across her lap. “Even without knowing it.”
He didn’t move.
Then—“I do know.”
A pause. The flames behind him grew quiet.
“You reek of death. It’s why you belong here.”
That was all.
No warmth. No alliance. Just honesty.
But in this world… honesty was rare.
So she smiled.And for once, it wasn’t meant to kill.