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Rascal Does Not Dream Of Logical Witch

The third party does not want to love again

Aurora’s eyes blazed with anger, her voice breaking between the tears she had tried in vain to hold back. “I thought I would forget your past love for you, but I was wrong! You are the one who chose to remain trapped in the past, refusing to see the one who truly loves you!” Kyle, despite his outward calm, was burning inside. Guilt gnawed at his heart, yet he said nothing. Aurora cried out bitterly: “She is happy now, living her life with the one she loves, with her husband and children! She never saw you as more than a brother and a friend!” He couldn’t take it anymore. Stepping toward her in anger, his voice was sharp as a blade: “Shut your mouth. I don’t want to talk about this again!” Then, coldly, he added: “Go home. I’ll send your father a letter of apology and end this engagement.” Aurora stood still for a moment, her eyes filled with pain before she whispered in a choked voice: “Don’t bother… I will send the letter to my family myself. And don’t worry, I won’t tell them that you were the one who wanted to end it.” She cast him one last broken glance before turning away, leaving behind nothing but the sound of her fading footsteps, her silent tears, and a shattered heart… A week passed. Then, the phone rang. Kyle answered coldly: “Yes, who is this?” A trembling voice came from the other end—it was Lady Valeska, filled with concern: “Is Aurora alright? She hasn’t called us all week…” His heart pounded violently in his chest as panic surged through him. No… No… No. I can’t lose her! Will this love find a happy ending, or will it remain one-sided forever?
Nen_ai · 7.3K Views

The Witch’s Vow

The night Elira was born, the sky wept with a storm so fierce it drowned the village’s crops and sent the river surging through the streets. The elders whispered that it was an omen—a cursed child had entered the world. Her mother, Lirien, barely survived the birth. She had screamed through the labor, clutching the straw bedding as if the pain itself was trying to steal her soul. When she finally held her newborn daughter, she gasped—not out of love, but fear. Elira’s eyes were too sharp, too knowing for a child who had only just entered the world. The midwife, an old woman with trembling hands, hesitated before cutting the umbilical cord. A chill passed through the room, the flickering oil lamp nearly snuffing out. The air felt… wrong. The village healer arrived soon after, summoned in desperation. She pressed her palm to the newborn’s tiny chest, feeling the thrum of something unnatural beneath her skin. “She is touched by the old magic,” the healer murmured. “A witch, from birth.” Lirien sobbed, clutching her baby to her chest. “No, please. My daughter is innocent.” The healer gave her a sorrowful look. “You must keep her hidden. If the village learns the truth, they will fear her.” And so, Elira grew up in the shadows. Her childhood was not one of warmth, but of caution. Her mother, though loving in her own way, kept her at arm’s length, afraid of what she might become. Her father, a bitter man worn down by poverty, looked at her as if she were the reason for all his misfortunes. But magic cannot be contained forever. At the age of five, Elira made a dead flower bloom in her hands. At seven, she whispered to the wind, and it answered. At ten, she healed a wound on her mother’s arm simply by touching it. Her family’s fear grew with each passing year. They did not see a daughter, a sister. They saw a curse. Then, when Elira was thirteen, something happened that changed everything. A boy from the village—one who had tormented her for years, throwing stones and calling her “witchspawn”—fell from a tree and broke his leg. The bone jutted through his skin, his screams echoing through the hills. Elira, acting on instinct, ran to him. She laid her hands on his leg, her power surging like a wave. The bone snapped back into place. The wound closed. He was healed. But instead of gratitude, there was terror. The boy’s mother shrieked. Villagers came running. They saw what she had done, what she was. “Witch,” they whispered. “Monster.” By nightfall, her family had packed their belongings and fled the village, leaving behind the only home they had ever known. They wandered from town to town, never staying in one place too long. Her parents blamed her for their misfortune, for their suffering. They cursed her magic, wished it had never been born within her. But when Elira turned eighteen, everything changed again. A wealthy businessman came to their town, looking for a wife. He was powerful, rich beyond imagination—a man who could lift them from poverty. And he wanted a woman who was pure, untouched, innocent. Elira’s parents saw an opportunity. “She is a blessing,” her mother told him, forcing a smile. “A gift from the heavens.” Elira said nothing. She had learned long ago that the world would never see her for what she truly was. And so, she was given away to a man who believed he had married a saint—when in truth, he had married a witch.
Ashe_world · 5.1K Views
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