Pain.
It bloomed through my chest like a blade made of light, slicing through bone and breath, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.
All because she touched me.
Just her fingers grazing mine—no spell, no force—and it felt like the gods themselves had branded me.
Virelya didn't flinch.
She held my arm steady, her eyes never leaving mine. Not cruel. Not kind. Just… resigned.
"You feel it now," she said. "The curse."
I staggered back, breathing hard, pressing a hand to my ribs like that would stop the burn. "What the hell did you do to me?"
Her mouth tilted in something that wasn't quite a smile. "I warned you."
"No," I hissed, straightening. "You said you were cursed. You never said it could spread."
"It's not contagious," she said. "It's selective."
"What does that even mean?"
She turned her back to me and began walking down the aisle of books like we weren't having the most important conversation of my life. Her voice drifted behind her.
"It doesn't bind to just anyone. The curse only chooses those who try to see me."
I followed, angry and shaken and very aware of the residual ache pulsing beneath my skin.
"I didn't choose anything."
"No," she said softly. "But you didn't run, either."
She stopped by a window, moonlight pouring over her like water. Her reflection blurred in the glass.
"It's always the same," she murmured. "Someone gets close. The curse binds them. And one of us dies."
I swallowed. "Then unbind it."
"I can't."
"Break it."
"I've tried."
"Then kill me."
Her head snapped toward me, eyes flashing silver.
I didn't mean it. Not really. But the words came out too fast, too raw.
"If I'm going to die anyway, just do it now," I said. "Don't make me wait for fate to catch up."
She took one slow step toward me.
I braced myself again, thinking this was it—the death scene from the book. Ice through the heart. Body found cold.
But she didn't attack.
She just looked at me like she was memorizing my face.
And then she said something I didn't expect.
"I don't want to."
After that, she left.
Just like that.
No apology. No explanation. No further conversation.
She vanished from the library like smoke fading into night.
And I was left there, heart pounding, with one fact burned into my bones:
I was part of this story now.
Whether I wanted to be or not.
The next morning, I barely got out of bed.
The pain had faded to a dull throb, but my mind was worse—racing with questions, curses, theories I couldn't prove.
I tried to remember the book's exact plot. I didn't finish the whole thing, but I remembered enough.
The villainess was supposed to slowly go mad. She killed noble heirs. Destroyed cities. Cracked the sky with chaotic magic.
But last night, she saved a child's soul.
And spared me.
That wasn't madness.
That was mercy.
So what else was the story wrong about?
In the afternoon, I found myself wandering the estate's east wing. It was quiet there. No guards. No servants. Just old statues and dust-covered portraits of ancestors who'd died centuries ago.
And then I heard it.
The low hum of magic, like a tuning fork vibrating in the air.
I followed it.
Down a corridor. Around a corner.
Into the abandoned music hall.
She was there.
Again.
Virelya stood in the center of the room, her hands hovering over a shattered harp. The strings were frayed, the wood cracked.
But the magic in her hands—
It stitched everything back together. Slowly. Carefully. As if she were rewinding time.
She didn't notice me until I stepped too close.
"I thought you'd avoid me after last night," she said without looking up.
"I tried," I admitted.
She glanced over her shoulder.
"You're not very good at staying away."
"I've never been good at taking orders."
"I've noticed."
The harp finished repairing itself. She sat down, placed her fingers against the strings, and played a soft melody.
It was haunting. Beautiful. The kind of sound that made the air hold its breath.
"I used to play for my mother," she said. "Before she was executed."
I didn't say anything. What could I?
"Her crime?" she added. "Loving the wrong man. One touched by fate."
I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "The same curse?"
She nodded once.
"They killed her to break it. Thought it would save the world."
"Did it?"
Virelya looked at me.
"Does it look like it did?"
Silence.
The melody she played shifted—sharper now. Melancholy.
She whispered, "They always call me the villain. But I was just… born wrong."
Something cracked in me.
I didn't know this girl. Not really. But I knew what it meant to be hated for something you never chose.
"Virelya," I said quietly. "I won't let this curse control me."
She stopped playing.
Her voice was colder than the wind outside.
"Then stay away from me, Caelum. Before it gets worse."
Too late.
It already had.