The forest stretched out before Thalia, dark and imposing, as she gingerly made her way along a path that was barely visible in the shadows. Her luxurious violet cloak caught on gnarled branches, but she didn't let that stop her. Moonlight filtered through the thick canopy overhead, casting eerie shadows that appeared to reach out toward her. Still, she pressed on, driven by a mix of desperation and ambition.
Soon enough, she stumbled upon a small clearing, home to a dilapidated cottage with windows glowing an unsettling green. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Thalia knocked firmly on the aged door.
"Enter, child of ambition," a voice that sounded like dry leaves whispered from inside.
Thalia pushed the door open, her eyes gradually adjusting to the dim interior. The Forest Seer hunched over a table cluttered with strange objects, her silver hair swaying as if caught in an invisible breeze.
"Lady Thalia," the witch crooned without bothering to turn around. "What urgent desire brings you to my little refuge?"
Thalia took a steady breath, though her stomach churned. "I need your help, Enchantress. There's a... complication at court that needs addressing."
The witch spun around, her eyes shifting from a deep purple to a toxic green. "Ah, yes. The peasant girl posing a threat to your carefully laid plans. How... inconvenient."
Thalia's jaw tightened. "Can you assist me or not?"
A low, unsettling chuckle slipped from the witch's lips. "For a price, my dear. There's always a price."
"Just tell me what it is," Thalia replied without hesitation.
The Forest Seer's grin widened, revealing sharp, unnatural teeth. "Your firstborn child."
Thalia's breath caught at the unexpected demand, but she quickly steeled her resolve. "Agreed."
"Excellent," the witch purred as she approached a massive iron cauldron. "Now, let's get started."
With effortless grace, the Enchantress began adding various ingredients to the bubbling mixture. Dried herbs crackled as they hit the liquid, releasing potent aromas that made Thalia's head spin.
"What will this potion do?" Thalia asked, struggling to keep her voice steady.
The witch's eyes sparkled with malice. "It will freeze the girl's heart, dear. All those blossoming feelings she has for your beloved prince? They'll wither away, leaving her as cold and unfeeling as stone."
Thalia was captivated as she watched the witch add a final ingredient—an opalescent liquid that suspiciously looked like a tear. The cauldron hissed and emitted foul-smelling smoke that curled up like searching fingers.
"Is it… reversible?" Thalia found herself asking.
The Forest Seer laughed, a sharp and cruel sound. "Having second thoughts, my dear? It's too late for that now. The deal is struck."
She ladled the thick, dark liquid into a small vial and held it up to the flickering candlelight, which seemed to disappear into the void within.
"Just one drop in her evening tea," the witch instructed, pressing the vial into Thalia's trembling hand. "That's all it will take for you to win."
Thalia gripped the vial tightly, her stomach churning with a mix of triumph and unease. "Thank you, Enchantress."
As she turned to leave, the witch's voice echoed behind her. "Remember, child. Magic always demands a price. Are you truly ready to pay it?"
Thalia didn't respond, rushing out into the night, the vial feeling heavy in her pocket and the witch's laughter lingering in her ears.
Meanwhile, Jane sat by the window in her chambers, the last rays of sunset painting the sky in warm hues of amber and rose. She cradled a delicate porcelain teacup, its warmth comforting as she gazed out at the palace gardens. The fragrant steam rising from her evening tea offered the soothing scents of chamomile and lavender.
"Oh, Dubois," she murmured softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "What secrets lie behind those closed eyes of yours?"
Taking a sip, she savored the gentle flavor while her thoughts drifted toward the sleeping prince. The hours spent studying his journals and portraits had stirred feelings within her—both exhilarating and frightening.
Setting the cup down, Jane trailed her fingers over the intricate patterns adorning it. "I never imagined I could feel this way about someone I've never truly met," she mused aloud. "Is this what falling for an idea of a person feels like?"
But just as she reached for her tea again, an unexpected chill washed over her. Shivering, she tightened her shawl around her shoulders. "That's odd," she said, frowning. "It wasn't cold just a moment ago."
Another sip of tea yielded only dizziness and a disconcerting emptiness in her chest.
"What's happening to me?" Jane gasped, pressing her hand over her heart. The steady rhythm beneath her palm felt distant, as if it belonged to another.
She staggered to her feet, her legs shaky. "I need to check on Dubois," she said, her voice sounding faint in her own ears. Yet as she spoke his name, dread squeezed her heart—a realization hitting her that the warmth and curiosity she had felt for the prince had vanished completely.
"No, no, this isn't right," she whispered, confusion filling her gaze. "I was just thinking about him, about his journals, his smile in those portraits. Why can't I feel anything now?"
Grasping a nearby chair for support, Jane's hands trembled. "It's like someone has taken a part of me," she said, her voice cracking with emotion. "But how? Why?"
She shut her eyes, desperately trying to summon the feelings that had bloomed within her moments before. But where there had once been a garden of emotions was now an empty wasteland.
"This can't be happening," Jane murmured, her voice barely a whisper. "I need to feel something, anything. For Dubois, for the kingdom, for myself."
Yet, no matter how hard she tried, warmth stayed frustratingly out of reach. Alone in her chambers, Jane felt more isolated than she ever had on the farm. The silence pressing around her felt as cold and unyielding as the emptiness in her heart.
Her black braids swung wildly as she sprinted down the palace corridors, desperation shoving aside any affection. Bursting into the portrait gallery, her eyes darted frantically across each image of Prince Dubois.
"Please," she pleaded softly, trembling as she approached a portrait of the prince on horseback. "I know you're still there. I felt it just before."
Her fingers traced the outline of Dubois's face on the canvas, searching for a spark that would reignite the connection she had experienced hours earlier. But the paint remained cold and lifeless beneath her touch.
Determined, Jane turned and headed for a display case holding Dubois's journals. She pulled one out, flipping through the pages with anxious hands. "Your words once stirred something in me," she murmured. "They have to again. They must."
As she read aloud, her voice echoed hollowly in the empty room. "'The horizon calls to me, a siren's song of adventure and freedom.' Why can't I feel that yearning anymore?"
Frustrated, Jane slammed the journal shut and pressed it to her chest. "What's happening to me?" she cried, anguish heavy in her voice. "Am I losing my mind?"
She sank to the floor, surrounded by fragments of a man she had only just begun to care for. "I don't understand," she whispered, tears pooling in her eyes. "How can I save him if I can't even feel for him?"
As hours slipped by, Jane pored over every relic of Dubois's life, desperate to rekindle the flame that had gone out. Yet with each moment, the hollow space inside her only seemed to expand, leaving her feeling more disconnected.
As dawn's first light filtered through the windows, Jane found herself sitting by Dubois's bedside, her resolve crumbling like sand between her fingers. She studied his peaceful face, longing to feel something, anything at all.
"Your Highness," she began, her voice barely above a murmur. "I know you're still in there. I know there's a reason I was chosen to be here. But... I can't feel it anymore."
Her hand hovered above Dubois's unmoving form, trembling. "I want to help you; I want to feel what I felt earlier. Yet it feels like there's a barrier between us now, and I don't know how to break it down."
She leaned closer, searching Dubois's face for any sign of a response. "Can you hear me, Prince Dubois? Can you feel anything? Because I… I can't. And I'm terrified."
The silence in the room weighed heavily, broken only by the sound of Jane's uneven breathing. Closing her eyes, she fought back tears. "Your father gave me three days. But how can I save you when I can't even pull myself from this… emptiness?"
As she opened her eyes, they landed on a small clock ticking away on the bedside table, its sound growing louder, a reminder of the looming deadline set by the King. Jane's shoulders slumped under the weight of her impossible task.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from Dubois's forehead. "I'm trying. I promise I am. But I just don't know if it's enough. I don't know if I'm enough."
Her fingers lingered on Dubois's forehead for a moment before she pulled away, clenching her fist at her side. Rising from her seat, she began to pace the lavish bedchamber, her footsteps muffled by the plush carpets.
"What am I missing?" she murmured to herself, her brow furrowed in thought. "There has to be something I'm overlooking."
A gentle knock at the door jolted her from her reverie. The King entered, his regal demeanor clashing with the deep lines of worry etched on his face.
"Any progress, my dear?" he asked, his voice a mix of hope and anxiety.
Jane felt her heart drop. "Your Majesty, I... I'm doing everything I can think of, but…"
The King's expression hardened, his jaw clenched. "But what, Jane? By now, you must feel something for my son."
She found it hard to swallow, unable to look him in the eye. "I did, Your Majesty. I really did. But now it feels like… like those feelings are locked away, and I just can't reach them."
The King's gaze sharpened, a flicker of suspicion crossing his face. "Locked away? What do you mean by that?"
Jane's thoughts raced, trying to find the right words. "I can't explain it, sire. It's like there's a void where my emotions should be. I know I should care, but I... I just can't feel it anymore."
His voice lowered, adopting an edge that sent chills down her spine. "You have one day left, Jane. One day to show me that my faith in you wasn't misplaced. If you fail…"
He didn't need to finish. Jane could feel the weight of his unspoken threat pressing heavily on her. She nodded, her voice a mere whisper. "I understand, Your Majesty. I won't give up."
As the King turned to leave, a surge of desperation flooded through her. "Your Majesty, please. Is there anything else you can share about the prince? Anything that might help me connect with him?"
He paused at the door, his hand resting on the elaborate handle. For just a moment, his stern exterior softened, revealing a glimpse of a grieving father. "He always loved the gardens," he said softly. "He said they reminded him of his mother."
With that, he was gone, leaving Jane alone with the comatose prince and the relentless ticking of the clock. She sank back into her chair, her mind swirling with endless possibilities and fears.
"The gardens," she whispered, glancing out the window at the moonlit grounds below. "Maybe that's where I'll find my answers. Or maybe… maybe that's where everything will start to crumble."