The countless passageways of the castle were shrouded in shadows that spoke of grief and long-forgotten secrets. With caution, Celine meandered about, her gaze resting on the antique pictures and sculptures that adorned the walls. Every individual seems to be carrying a fragment of history, an untold narrative. Nevertheless, King Alaric's icy, penetrating stare was unmistakably present everywhere, serving as a sharp reminder of his authority over the country and over her destiny.
Ever since coming here, she'd heard murmurs about him. A curse that tied their monarch in eternal anguish had been hinted at by servants who hardly spoke his name. Rumors had been passed among them in dimly lit rooms. Legend has it that he was once a monarch who loved life and believed in love, a guy of joy and brightness. However, that was before losing her, the person who had sacrificed her life to rescue his, condemning him to an unending cycle of grief. They said that now he was an immortal engulfed in a sinister wrath, having abandoned his humanity and barely hanging on to his former self.
Celine became uneasy about these stories as she read them more, for reasons she couldn't quite put her finger on. They had an unusual familiarity, a resonance that made her feel as though something old was being stirred within of her.
Her curiosity got the better of her. She needed to know more. She crept inside the castle library that night, feeling the weight of the years pressing down on her as she ran her fingertips down the spines of long-forgotten books. She discovered an ancient, fading notebook concealed among them the shelf; time had bent the cover. The smell of aged parchment and fading ink filled the air as soon as she opened it, and the words therein drew her farther into the secrets of Alaric's past.
The diary mentioned a curse that an old witch had placed on Alaric at great personal sacrifice, forcing him to live in constant turmoil for all eternity until he was able to experience the purity of love again. The words became hazy in front of her as their weight made contact with her heart. She pictured Alaric, the emotionless, icy king, suffering from loss ceaselessly, his heart growing more and more sorrowful and yearning for eternity. He was tortured by the curse's potency, and his unwillingness to ingest human blood was just as much of a punishment to serve as a reminder of the affection he never had. Every night without stars served as a constant reminder that he had lost his sweetheart and, along with her, the core of his own being.
Celine found herself called by Alaric the next day. She braced herself, heart racing as she stepped inside the still, shadowy throne room. Perched on his throne, Alaric commanded the room with a presence that was at once majestic and forlorn. She felt his gaze upon her, its penetrating blackness burning with an intensity that defied her will to turn away.
Tell me, in a low, nearly growling voice, "have the rumors scared you?"
She was challenged to answer as the question weighed heavy between them. On the other hand, Celine experienced a silent melancholy, seeing the subtle furrows around his eyes, deeply carved into his visage. Something that she knew was beyond of his control appeared to bind his agony and his might together.
"No," she said in a calm and quiet voice, "but I'm curious." It's said that you are destined to suffer continuously. I would want to comprehend.
Alaric's countenance softened into a bitter grin, a hint of emotion showing through his reserved demeanor. "Being curious can be risky, particularly in this place."
Celine moved closer in spite of herself. "I would bear it if I could."
He let out a hard chuckle that was more hurtful than humorous. Would you jeopardize your own heart? His eyes met hers, a mixture of rage and near-despairing expression in his eyes. Are you aware of the implications of that? How would you be affected by that?
She gazed at him, the warmth in her chest growing till her dread gave way to a cautious sympathy. Maybe that would help me comprehend you, she muttered.
Something appeared to break inside Alaric. His fingers jerked as if he wanted to grab her, but he held back, his face growing serious. She felt that his self-imposed separation from her was a prison and a curse, that it kept him caught between wanting her close and being afraid of her proximity.
He said in a scarcely audible mutter, his voice faltering, "That... you cannot understand." She gasped at the sight of weakness, his power and grief entwined in a raw, eerie, and painfully beautiful way.
Celine couldn't get the picture of him out of her head when she was by herself in her quarters later. Yes, she had seen the monarch, but she had also seen the man, a man trapped in his own heart, bound by pain. She felt the weight of his grief seeping into her, strengthening her determination. She will do anything to shine a small light in his life.
She had no idea that her own destiny was starting to merge with his, drawing her farther into the shadows that had imprisoned him for so long. And it was in that darkness that a terrible fascination started to awaken in her heart—a pleasure that both alarmed and thrilled her with an unquenchable need.