After Zahara finished her story, the group sat in silence, absorbing the weight of the queen's words. The fire flickered between them, casting long shadows across the faces of the immortals. Isolde Ravenshadow, the quiet and enigmatic sorceress, seemed to be contemplating something deeply as her violet eyes glimmered with an unsettling calm.
Sensing the attention shifting toward her, Isolde lifted her gaze, her voice low and almost melodic. "I suppose it's my turn, then," she said, her words laced with an air of mystery.
The immortals leaned in slightly, their curiosity piqued by the aura of darkness that clung to her like a veil. Eirik's ice-blue eyes studied her closely, while Lucius subtly analyzed her every word, trying to gauge what kind of power this sorceress might wield.
"I was born into a world of shadows and secrets," Isolde began, her voice steady but soft, as though the memories were both distant and painful. "I was part of an ancient order—an order of sorcerers who practiced magic forbidden to most. We delved into dark rituals, seeking knowledge and power. But the deeper we went, the more I realized the cost of such power."
Her violet eyes briefly flickered with a strange light, and she continued, "I didn't intend to become immortal. It was an accident—a byproduct of a ritual gone terribly wrong. My fellow sorcerers... they didn't survive the ritual. I was the only one left. The immortality I gained was not a gift but a curse. For centuries, I have wandered, seeking redemption, but the weight of their deaths has never left me. I carry it still."
The air grew cold as Isolde spoke, as if the shadows themselves were listening to her words. The others exchanged glances, sensing the gravity of her past. Aurelia, who had always lived with the fire of passion, seemed especially uneasy.
"Dark magic, you say?" Nyssa's voice was tense, her violet eyes narrowed as she assessed the sorceress. "You mean to tell me you tampered with forces you barely understood, and now you're burdened with a guilt you can't shake? Sounds reckless."
Isolde met Nyssa's intense gaze without flinching. "Recklessness has its price. I've paid mine for centuries, and I'll continue to pay it. I do not expect forgiveness, not even from myself."
Lucius, always one to find an angle in every story, leaned forward slightly. "And yet, you still practice magic, don't you?" His tone was calculated, as if probing for a weakness. "You're still wielding the very power that brought you this curse. Isn't that a contradiction, Isolde?"
She gave him a small, bitter smile. "Magic is all I know. It is what I am. To deny it would be to deny myself. But I have learned caution. "