The next day arrived in Eldoria with an unusual brightness, as if the heavens themselves were whispering of something new. Isabelle could feel it in the air, a subtle shift, a vibration that hummed beneath her skin. She didn't know what it meant, but the sensation was enough to make her pause, to question the monotony of her life that had otherwise seemed unchanging.
Her chores awaited, as they always did. The washing, the cleaning, the endless tasks that kept her bound to the small, dim cottage that smelled of dust and neglect. The smell of burned wood clung to her clothes, and the ache in her hands from scrubbing and lifting never seemed to fade. But today, something tugged at her, pulling her attention toward the forest at the edge of the village again.
The same forest where she had felt a strange presence the day before.
"I'm going to the market," she told Lady Evelina as she set down the broom, her voice as steady as she could manage. "I need to buy flour for tonight's meal."
Lady Evelina barely looked up from her sewing. "See that you return by midday," she commanded, her voice sharp. "And don't dawdle."
Isabelle nodded and left the cottage, the weight of her stepmother's gaze on her back. As she walked into the village, the sun glinted off the cobblestone streets, and the quiet chatter of the market vendors filled the air. The villagers were used to her presence, often giving her sympathetic glances, but Isabelle barely noticed them. She was too distracted by the same pull, that invisible thread that seemed to weave her fate toward the forest once more.
Without a clear reason for her sudden determination, Isabelle found herself standing at the edge of the trees once more, the familiar scent of pine and damp earth filling her lungs. She could hear the soft rustle of the wind in the branches, the distant calls of birds, and the hum of magic that she could almost taste in the air.
She hesitated, glancing behind her to ensure no one was watching. With a quiet breath, she stepped forward, the forest floor soft beneath her worn boots. The path she followed seemed familiar, but in a way that felt new. Each step she took felt like it brought her closer to something she couldn't yet understand.
The trees parted slightly ahead, revealing a small clearing she had never noticed before. The sunlight streamed through the canopy above, casting a soft, ethereal glow on the ground. At the center of the clearing stood an old stone well, its surface covered in moss and vines. Isabelle approached cautiously, her fingers brushing over the cool stones.
Suddenly, the hairs on her neck prickled again, the sensation of being watched washing over her once more. She glanced over her shoulder, but no one was there.
"Hello?" she called softly, her voice barely louder than a whisper.
The air shifted, and for a heartbeat, she swore she could hear a distant growl—deep and guttural. The forest seemed to hold its breath as the sound faded into the distance.
Isabelle's pulse quickened, but she refused to let fear take hold of her. She had come too far to turn back now. As she knelt to take a closer look at the well, a strange thing happened. A glimmer of light danced across the water, a reflection that wasn't hers.
For a fleeting moment, Isabelle saw a figure—tall, broad-shouldered, his features obscured by a shadow. His presence felt imposing, and yet there was something strangely familiar about the way he stood.
The image vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving only the rippling water in its wake.
Heart pounding, Isabelle stood up. Her hand trembled as she backed away from the well, the strange sense of being drawn toward something greater than herself filling her chest. It was as if something—someone—was calling to her, guiding her, but she couldn't see who or what it was.
She needed to leave, to return to the safety of her home, but her legs felt like they were rooted to the spot.
"Leave this place," a low voice rumbled, so quietly it almost sounded like part of the wind. Isabelle spun around, her eyes wide, her breath caught in her throat. She scanned the trees, but found no one.
With a sudden rush of clarity, Isabelle snapped to attention and hurried from the clearing, her heart racing as her feet carried her back to the village. She didn't dare stop to look back, the eerie feeling of something—or someone—following her lingering in the air.
Back in the castle, Prince Alaric stood at the edge of the grand balcony, his gaze fixed on the distant village. His heart ached as the wind brushed past him, as if urging him to act. The curse had held him prisoner in this desolate place for too long. He had come to accept it—his beastly form, the isolation, the regret. But something had shifted in him since he had heard of Isabelle.
Lucien had been to the village again, confirming what Alaric had suspected. Isabelle was different. She was a light in the darkness, a spark of hope that, despite the curse, he could still feel. But hope was a dangerous thing. Hope made you vulnerable, and Alaric had learned long ago that vulnerability only led to more pain.
His mind flickered back to the moment when Lucien had described her—her gentle nature, her strength despite her hardships. And most importantly, the pull she seemed to have toward the castle. Alaric couldn't deny that he had felt it too, a connection that bound him to her in a way he couldn't explain.
"The girl," he murmured to himself, his gaze narrowing as he watched the trees swaying in the distance. "She will come. She has to."
Lucien had spoken of fate—of a prophecy that had been told long ago. A prophecy that spoke of a girl who would break the curse, a girl whose love could lift the darkness. But even now, Alaric struggled to believe it. He had been alone for so long, his heart encased in the bitterness of his past.
"Perhaps," Lucien had said, his voice filled with quiet certainty, "this is the chance we've been waiting for."
Isabelle returned home later that day, her body exhausted and her mind still reeling from the strange encounter in the forest. She had barely managed to pick up the flour she'd promised Lady Evelina, but her thoughts were consumed with the pull of the castle, the mystery of the well, and the figure she had seen in the water.
Her life, which had always felt so small, now seemed to stretch out into something vast and unknown. And as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, casting long shadows across the cottage, Isabelle couldn't shake the feeling that the forest—and the castle beyond it—held the answers to the questions she had been too afraid to ask.
And somewhere, in the distance, a pair of eyes watched her—eyes that had been waiting for her arrival.