Far beyond the palace walls, in a forgotten shrine swallowed by woods and mist, a darkness stirred.
The ancient seals trembled, lines of old blood cracking beneath invisible pressure. A faint cry echoed through the air — not heard, but felt. A soul born to misery. A child made of sorrow.
In the heart of the shrine, bound by chains that shimmered with dying spells, a man lay silent.
His hair spilled around him like spilled ink, his face marred by a mark that had long outlived the priestess who cursed him. His once-golden eyes had faded to empty dullness — until now.
The moment the cursed child's cry touched the world, his eyes flared open, burning like molten sun.
"She's come…" his voice was no louder than a breath, but it shook the walls around him.
He raised his gaze to the blood moon outside the shrine's shattered roof.
"𝗔𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲… 𝗺𝘆 𝗯𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝘀 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗺𝗲."
A twisted, sorrowful smile curled his lips.
"𝗦𝗼𝗼𝗻."
˚૮︵⭒‿᧔☪︎᧓‿⋆︵౨˚
𝗕𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗠𝗼𝗼𝗻 𝗕𝗼𝗿𝗻
The night Yurei was born, the moon bled.
It hung low in the ink-black sky, swollen and crimson, casting a somber glow over the trembling palace walls. The wind howled through the withering cherry trees, tearing their last blossoms free. The world seemed to mourn before it even knew what it had lost.
Inside the birthing chamber, the scent of blood clung to the air like a curse. The queen's lifeless body lay cold, her once gentle face pale in death. In her arms, a newborn child wailed, her cry sharp as a blade in the silence.
The king looked upon the infant not with grief, but with fury.
"She took her mother's life," the priestess muttered, eyes shadowed.
"The cursed child."
Thus, the girl was named Yurei — ghost, for she was as unwanted as a wandering spirit.
Her life became a string of bruises and beatings.
No soft hand cradled her. No kind voice called her name.
The king remarried, hoping to produce a male heir. The new queen wore a mask of sweetness before others, but behind closed doors, she despised Yurei. Her words dripped with venom, her eyes with loathing. She whispered poison into the king's ear, blaming every ill omen, every failed harvest, every restless night on the girl.
Her stepsister was born a year later — beautiful, cruel, and sharp-tongued, her mother's venom in her veins. She delighted in mocking Yurei, turning servants against her, locking her in cold rooms, and breaking her cherished things.
The beatings grew worse as she aged.
A spilled cup. A misplaced word. A glance the wrong way.
The castle learned to look away.
By sixteen, Yurei's heart was a fortress of cracked stone, her eyes dulled like the glass of a forgotten window. She believed herself unworthy of love, a living omen, cursed to rot in silence.
She spoke to no one but the wind and the night.
To be continued...