The Demon Hunter's Romance (drama)

She grew up in a funeral home, a place that had always been her world. At night, the fluorescent lights cast an even harsher pallor on the water-streaked floors. She sprinted down the long corridor, almost like she’d lost her mind.

The first door came into view. She pushed it open, flipped the switch—no light. In the pitch-black doorway lingered a faint but undeniable scent of blood. No one was inside. Just the fresh, iron tang of blood, disturbingly vivid.

The second door—no one. The third—still no one. Everyone was gone. Uncle Qi, who tended the boiler; the plump cleaning lady; even the ghosts who normally lurked everywhere—all of them had disappeared!

The funeral home, vast and built into the mountains, seemed to hold only her now. And that fresh, unshakable scent of blood.

At nineteen, Ban Xia felt fear for the first time in her life.

“Dad!” Her cry was sharp and shrill, cutting through the deathly pale light above her. The response she got was cold silence. Everyone was gone, including her father, the man who had been her sole companion for nineteen years.

A gust of chilling wind swept past her back, and the smell of blood grew stronger, more oppressive, creeping toward her through the shrouding darkness of night. She turned around.

From the distance came a sound. All she saw was a fleeting silhouette, pale like the moon, flitting down the end of the corridor before vanishing into the shadows with a soft “whoosh.”