"Some curses are born from hatred - others from a love that was never returned."
Isolde Lirien woke up in the darkest part of sleep.
Or at least, she thought she did.
Stone walls still surrounded her. Mist drifted slowly through the night air. She stood in the courtyard of a castle - she knew this, because her dreams always brought her here. The same stones. The same silence. The same suffocating familiarity.
There was a weight on her chest. Breathing felt difficult, as if something inside her was slowly, relentlessly consuming her.
This was not the first time.
In recent weeks, her sleep had shattered, her dreams bleeding into reality. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw him. His face. His gaze. That rigid silhouette emerging from the darkness.
And the worst part...
was how familiar he felt.
Isolde pressed a hand against her chest. Beneath her fingers, her heart pounded wildly. She wanted to wake up, but the dream, as always, refused to let her go.
There was movement.
Across the courtyard, the shadows
shifted.
When Isolde lifted her head, she saw him.
A tall, motionless figure, almost the same color as the night itself. Moonlight touched only part of his face. Sharp features. A cold, commanding presence. Even in the dark, his eyes burned.
Isolde's throat went dry.
- "Again..." she whispered.
"You came again."
The man did not answer.
But his gaze felt as if it had been watching her for years.
Isolde took a step forward. Her heart hammered violently against her ribs. She knew she should run. Yet her feet would not obey.
- "You're calling me," she said, her voice trembling.
"Sometimes... sometimes it feels like you want me. And sometimes like you hate me."
Something flickered across his face. Small. Brief.
Then, as always, the dream unraveled.
Isolde woke with a sharp gasp.
She was in her room. Small, plain, cold. Pale morning light slipped through the window. Her sheets were damp with sweat. When she raised her hands, she saw them shaking.
- "It's just a dream," she told herself.
But her voice lacked conviction.
Because the dreams did not fade.
Even during the day, she sometimes felt his gaze resting on her shoulder. When she tried to explain it to others, they lowered their eyes and looked at her with pity.
"You're exhausted."
"You're imagining things."
"You're obsessing."
No one knew how the curse worked. Not even Isolde. She only knew that with each passing day, she felt herself slowly disappearing.
And that night, without knowing that the place from her dreams was real, she went to the castle.
Valerian Ragnar had watched the nights for centuries.
But that night, it was not the scent of blood that stopped him -
it was bloodline.
The moment he saw the woman standing in the courtyard, everything inside him surged back to life.
The same face.
The same lines.
- "Izabell," he breathed without meaning to.
But this woman... was not Izabell.
Izabell did not fear.
Izabell calculated.
There was no innocence in Izabell's eyes.
This woman had it.
Valerian descended the stairs. His footsteps echoed against the stone. The woman flinched but did not flee. Their eyes met.
- "You..." she said.
Then she fell silent, as if the words scattered inside her mind.
Valerian stepped closer. He could hear her heartbeat accelerating.
- "I know you," the woman whispered.
"In my dreams."
Valerian stopped.
This was how the curse worked.
- "Your name," he said sharply.
"What is your name?"
- "Isolde," she answered.
"Isolde Lirien."
Her surname cut through him like a blade.
Bloodline.
So the curse still lived.
- "You should not be here," Valerian said.
It was not a threat.
It was a warning.
- "You always say that," Isolde replied.
"In my dreams as well."
Valerian's eyes flashed red for a brief moment before he forced it down.
This girl was not Izabell.
But she was the price of his sin.
- "Do not tell anyone that you see me in your dreams," he said.
"No one will believe you."
Isolde lowered her gaze.
- "They already don't," she said.
"They think I'm mad."
For the first time, Valerian stepped back.
He saw what his curse was doing inside an innocent body.
And for the first time in centuries,
he felt something he had long forgotten:
Fear.