My Wives Are Seven Beautiful Demonesses-Chapter 173 - No. Selene’s True Identity?!

[Location: Morningstar Manor, New York]

"Grrr~"

I woke up with a strange weight bearing down on my chest.

Warm.

Heavy.

Breathing.

...Growling?

My eyes cracked open slowly, vision blurry with sleep and existential fatigue. The ceiling of Morningstar Manor came into focus first — gothic arches, faint runes along the moulding, one chandelier that absolutely did not obey gravity properly.

Then my eyes lowered.

Silver hair.

Soft.

Very close.

Grayfia.

She was asleep half on top of me.

Her head rested against my shoulder, one arm draped across my torso, fingers lightly curled in the fabric of my shirt like she was afraid I might evaporate if she let go. Her breathing was slow and steady, but every few seconds her brows twitched faintly, as if she was fighting something in her dreams.

"...Oh," I whispered.

Right.

The day before yesterday.

Emotional implosion.

Carmilla reveal.

Existential chaos.

Cuddling had... happened.

I carefully shifted—

"Don’t," came a sleepy, muffled voice from my left.

I turned my head.

Eris was there too.

She was sprawled across my stomach sideways like a starfish that had declared territorial ownership. One leg was thrown over my waist, and her cheek was squished against my ribs.

Her eyes were still closed.

But she tightened her grip.

"Papa is pillow," she muttered.

"...I see."

So that was the weight situation.

I tried to move again.

Grayfia’s fingers tightened slightly.

Not consciously.

Instinctively.

Like her body refused to release me even while asleep.

My heart did a very stupid thing in my chest.

"...Okay," I whispered to the ceiling. "I accept my fate."

"Smart choice," came a voice from somewhere nearby.

I looked toward the foot of the bed.

Selene was sitting cross-legged there.

On the bed.

Facing us.

Watching.

She had a mug in both hands and was sipping loudly while wearing an oversized hoodie that said "WITCHES DO IT WITH RITUAL CIRCLES" in glittery letters.

Her messy blonde hair stuck out in all directions, and there were faint dark circles under her eyes, as if she had absolutely not slept.

"How long have you been there?" I asked quietly.

She checked an imaginary wristwatch.

"Since 5:12 a.m."

"...Why?"

"..."

"...Why?" I repeated, because surely there had to be a reasonable explanation for my resident witch squatting at the foot of my bed at dawn like a caffeinated gargoyle.

Selene took another dramatic sip from her mug. Steam curled up, smelling faintly of cinnamon and something that might have been ethically questionable.

"I was waiting for you to wake up."

"That," I said, "does not answer the question. That creates more questions. Several. Loud ones."

She leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice like we were discussing state secrets instead of my current status as a demon-themed body pillow.

"Because," she whispered, eyes sparkling, "I sensed a disturbance."

I blinked. "In the Force?"

"In the wards," she corrected, offended. "Please. I am a professional."

Eris made a tiny grumbling noise and burrowed her face further into my shirt.

"Papa warm..." she mumbled.

Grayfia’s fingers flexed faintly again, her breathing hitching just a little before settling.

I looked back at Selene. "Define disturbance."

She pointed vaguely downward. "Under the Manor. Around the lower ley convergence. Something poked the perimeter wards around 4:47 a.m."

My sleep-fogged brain tried to process that.

"Poked," I repeated. "As in... attacked?"

She wobbled her hand. "Not exactly. It was more like... someone knocking on a door that they weren’t sure they were allowed to knock on."

"That is somehow worse."

"Right?" She nodded enthusiastically. "Very ominous energy. Polite, but ominous."

I closed my eyes for a second. "Did you tell Zeraphira?"

"Absolutely not."

My eyes snapped back open. "Selene."

"What?!" she hissed defensively. "She was finally sleeping! Do you know how rare that is lately? I’m not waking Wrath up at 5 a.m. unless the sky is actively falling or someone steals her snacks."

"That is... a surprisingly fair policy."

"Thank you."

"So instead," I continued, "you came to watch me sleep."

"Incorrect," she said primly. "I came to watch Grayfia sleep-watch you."

"...That is not better."

She shrugged. "It’s called situational awareness."

I stared at her.

She stared back.

Behind me, Grayfia shifted slightly, her forehead brushing faintly against my collarbone. The movement was so small, so unconscious, that it felt more like a reflex than a choice.

Selene’s expression softened a little.

"...She didn’t go to her room," Selene said quietly. "After that night."

I didn’t respond.

I had noticed.

Grayfia had stayed until I’d fallen asleep, sitting beside the bed like she used to beside the coffin — straight-backed, silent, watchful.

Apparently, at some point, exhaustion had won.

Selene continued, voice gentler now. "Her aura kept spiking in her sleep. Like she thought you were about to disappear."

My throat tightened.

"...I’m not going anywhere," I murmured.

Selene gave me a look that said she knew that wasn’t entirely in my control.

"Anyway," she said, forcibly brightening, "back to the possibly ominous magical door-knocker."

"Yes. That. Please focus on that."

She set her mug aside and scooted closer, lowering her voice again.

"It wasn’t demonic."

I frowned. "Angel?"

She shook her head. "Not holy either."

"...Human?"

"Way too precise."

That made something cold settle in my stomach.

"What did it feel like?"

Selene hesitated.

That, more than anything, made me nervous.

"...Old," she said finally. "Not ancient like Hell. Not cosmic like Heaven. But... systemic."

I did not like that word.

"Systemic how?"

She chewed her lip. "Like... like the kind of magic that isn’t from a person. Or a species. Or even a realm."

"...Selene."

"Like infrastructure," she finished softly.

I went very still.

Inside my mind, something remained silent.

Good.

Stay that way.

Outwardly, I kept my expression somewhere between tired and mildly concerned.

"So," I said carefully, "mysterious not-demon, not-angel, not-human infrastructure magic politely tapped on our door before sunrise."

"Yup!"

"...And you’re telling me now."

"Well, yeah. You’re the landlord."

"I am not the—"

"Metaphorically," she said, waving a hand. "You’re the narrative centre of gravity around here. Weird stuff happens near you."

I laughed weakly. "That’s not ominous at all."

She leaned closer, squinting at my face. "You’re taking this surprisingly well."

"I am extremely committed," I said, "to not having a panic attack before breakfast."

"Respect."

Eris snorted softly in her sleep and rolled slightly, nearly elbowing Grayfia in the chin. Grayfia’s arm instinctively tightened, protecting both of us in one smooth, unconscious motion.

Selene watched that with quiet eyes.

"...You know," she said slowly, "most people would have broken by now."

"From what part?" I asked dryly. "The demon fiancées, the ancient politics, the accidental vampire marriage, or the cosmic child?"

"Yes."

"Fair."

She tilted her head. "But you just... adjust."

If only she knew how literal that was.

"I cope through denial and snacks," I said.

"Iconic."

A small silence settled between us, filled only by soft breathing and the distant, barely audible hum of Morningstar Manor’s layered enchantments.

Selene’s gaze drifted past me, unfocused for a moment.

"...It didn’t feel hostile," she said more quietly. "Just... observant."

"Like you," I muttered.

She smiled faintly. "Yeah. Like me."

Something about the way she said that made me look at her more closely.

Selene was usually all chaotic energy, glitter, and pop-culture metaphors. But right now, sitting cross-legged in the half-light with her mug gone cold, she looked... still.

Grounded.

Older than she acted.

"You didn’t try to trace it?" I asked.

"I did."

"And?"

She made a face. "It traced back."

"...That is not how tracing works."

"I know," she said irritably. "That’s why I didn’t like it. I followed the thread, and it was like the thread was already mapped. Catalogued. Filed."

A chill slid down my spine.

Filed.

"Selene," I said carefully, "what exactly are you?"

She blinked. "Rude."

"I mean magically."

"Oh." She relaxed. "Still rude. Just fancier."

Humour me."

She studied me for a long moment, then glanced at Grayfia and Eris, both still asleep.

Her voice dropped.

"...Zeraphira calls me her witch," she said. "Which is technically correct."

"Technically?"

"I am a witch," she continued. "I do rituals, curses, potion brewing, questionable summoning circles, the usual."

"Comforting."

"...But," she said, tapping her fingers lightly against her knee, "I am not just any witch..."

She looked down at her hands.

For once, there was no sparkle in her eyes. No joke queued up. No meme reference loaded and ready.

A look of hesitation passed over her face — not fear exactly, but the kind of reluctance someone has when revealing something that might permanently change how they’re seen.

"...Before Zeraphira found me," Selene said quietly, "I didn’t belong to a coven."

"That doesn’t sound unusual," I murmured.

"For witches?" she said. "It’s extremely unusual. We’re social creatures. We share grimoires, curses, tea, and drama. Lone witches exist, but they’re rare."

"You were rare?"

She shook her head.

"I was... adopted."

That word settled strangely in the air.

"...Adopted," I repeated.

She closed her eyes in what felt like resignation rather than drama.

"...Not by just anyone," Selene said softly. "By the Witch Queen."

The words settled into the room like a dropped ritual dagger.

Not heavy.

Not explosive.

Just... final.

I didn’t react immediately.

Partly because I was very carefully controlling my breathing so I wouldn’t wake up the two lethal beings currently using me as furniture.

And partly because my brain had tripped over the phrase the Witch Queen and was still trying to decide which mental file to open.

"...Define the Witch Queen," I said quietly.

Selene snorted under her breath. "You know exactly which one."

"I really don’t," I replied. "I was sealed at the tender age of nine, woke up a millennium later...and the first thing I did was get emotionally mauled by my own fiancées," I finished under my breath. "My historical knowledge is a little patchy."

Selene huffed a laugh, but it was quiet, restrained.

"Right. Time-skip prince problems," she muttered.

"So," I continued softly, "please enlighten the clueless ex-coffin occupant."

She drew her knees up a little, hugging them loosely.

"The Witch Queen," Selene said, "isn’t just a title. She’s... the root authority of witchcraft as a system."

I stared at her.

"As in... politically?" I asked.

She shook her head.

"As in structurally."

Oh. Great. One of those.

"She doesn’t rule covens," Selene went on. "She doesn’t sit on a throne somewhere with a pointy hat and a cat army. Most witches never meet her. Some don’t even believe she exists."

"...Comforting," I murmured.

"She exists," Selene said. "But not like a person who walks around and does stuff. She’s more like... the axis point of witchcraft’s metaphysical framework."

I blinked slowly.

"I need you," I said, "to explain that like I’m five. Or dead. Either works."

Selene rubbed her face. "Okay. You know how demons have hierarchy, angels have choirs, and Hell has laws of power?"

"Yes."

"Witchcraft has a source structure too. Not a god. Not a realm. A... governing constant."

"Like gravity," I said. 𝒻𝑟𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝑛𝘰𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝘤𝘰𝘮

Her eyes lit up. "Yes! But for spells."

"...You were adopted by magical gravity."

"When you say it like that, it sounds way cooler than it felt at the time," she muttered.

I stared at her.

She stared back.

"...Selene."

"Yeah?"

"...How does one get adopted by a metaphysical constant?"

She winced. "Ah. See. That’s the part where my childhood gets weird."

"Your childhood was normal before that?"

"No, but it had fewer existential implications."

***

Stone me, I can take it!

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