The old woman watched her granddaughter in silence.
For days now, Aria had seemed... distant. Present, yet far away — as though something beyond this world was calling to her.
— Aria, my dear... are you alright? You seem… different.
Seated on the small bench of the terrace, Aria turned her head and gazed at the white lily petals between her fingers.
— Grandmother… I think I saw him again. Him.
The old woman raised a concerned brow.
— The cursed king?
Aria nodded, her voice low, almost ashamed.
— He wasn't… as they say. Not a monster. He was wounded. Alone. Haunted… I didn't feel fear. I felt something else. A deep, endless sadness.
The old woman let out a long sigh. She remained silent for a moment, then whispered:
— The world fears what it cannot understand. That king… once, he was a good man. A beloved ruler. Then the curse consumed him. He fled the people… to protect them. But that does not make him any less dangerous. Darkness devours even the noblest of souls.
Aria nodded slowly, but her voice did not falter.
— I just want to show him he hasn't been forgotten. That there's still a spark of humanity left in him.
The old woman placed a wrinkled hand over hers.
— Then do so with care, my sweet. The fire of shadow burns hotter than the sun.
---
From that day forward, each morning before dawn, Aria quietly laid a few flowers at the forest's edge. Lilies. Roses. Sometimes a sprig of rosemary. A silent message, an offering without words, to the one whose heart beat behind the mist.
She didn't know if he saw them.
But she hoped.
---
One evening, as the house slept peacefully, Aria followed an instinct she couldn't explain. She climbed to the roof, as silent as a breath. The wind was gentle. The moon hung high — pale like a fading memory.
Then she saw the bats.
They circled in the sky, agitated, restless.
A chill swept over her skin. She rose to her feet.
In the distance, trees were withering before her eyes. Shadows writhed through the night.
And then — he appeared.
The cursed king.
His black cloak billowed in the wind. His crimson gaze pierced the darkness.
He was terrifying. Beautiful. A storm incarnate.
He was fighting.
Against creatures of the night that even legend no longer dared to name.
Aria couldn't look away. Every movement he made was a deadly dance, a symphony of rage, strength, and sorrow.
But then… he turned his eyes toward her.
His red irises glowed. His gaze sharpened, wild — as if he no longer recognized her. As if the hunger within him screamed louder than reason.
— No… she whispered, heart pounding.
She jumped from the roof, fled down the stairs, rushed to her room, and dove beneath her covers.
She trembled.
She closed her eyes — but his breath still echoed in her mind.
And then… a voice, soft as frost, murmured through the silence, brushing against the still air of the room:
> Beneath the stars, I lose my way,
The void calls in a bitter sway.
The echoes weep in a sky of ash,
A voiceless cry no soul can catch.
Aria's eyes flew open.
She sat up straight.
No one.
The room was empty. Peaceful.
But she knew.
She hadn't dreamed.
The cursed king's voice had passed through walls, through shadow, through nothingness.
He had spoken. To her alone.
And in that whisper…
She had heard his truth.