The green light flickered to life, bathing the area in a soothing glow as Celestia’s breath finally steadied, the painful expression on her face fading. Her eyes, though still tired, held a glimmer of hope. “You’ll be fine. The exhaustion from a healing of this scale only lasts a week. Should I take you to a nearby city hospital?” Caleb’s gaze remained fixed on her, a soft hum resonating as the final wound—a laceration on her forehead—closed. Gently, he turned her onto her back, her head resting in his lap. “There, my lady. All healed up. You should wait a moment before you stand up.” he murmured, his expression a blend of concern and guilt.

  “How are you feeling, Lady Pendragon?” he asked softly.

  Celestia’s gaze drifted, trying to piece together the events that led her here. Then she felt his warm, comforting hand on hers. “I feel like I stumbled down two staircases and hit my head on a stone floor…” Her eyes fluttered shut, fatigue weighing heavily upon her.

  Caleb let out a soft chuckle, rubbing her hand gently with his thumb, his voice laced with guilt. “Yeah… you kinda got dragged down two staircases and tossed around like a rag doll. It’s no wonder you feel that way, my lady. I'm… sorry this happened at all.” He offered her a small, sad smile.

  “Oh…” Celestia attempted to laugh but ended up coughing instead. Caleb's hand glowed again as the coughing fit took hold, easing her discomfort. “That’s not the first time,” she said, her attempt at sarcasm falling flat. “Thank you for the appointment today.” She tried to make light of the situation, but the memory of being treated like a rubbish bag was too fresh. Tears welled in her eyes, and she couldn’t hold back her emotions any longer. “I want to go home—”

  Caleb’s expression tightened, guilt washing over him anew. His grip on her hand softened as if he feared further hurting her. “Just rest and relax, my lady,” he said quietly. “Just relax. I will call a carriage to take you home.” His heart ached as he regarded her, his voice barely a whisper. “This… is not the first time?”

  With a flick of his wrist, Caleb summoned a magical carriage. He gently helped her to a standing position, her legs wobbling beneath her. Everything felt surreal, but Celestia managed a small smile at him. “Thank you,” she said, feeling the need to acknowledge his presence after his unwavering support. She squeezed his hand. “Yes, not the first time. My old party would shove me down dungeon staircases… or make me stumble over my own feet.” As he helped her into the carriage, she added, “Goodbye, Lord Nightglen. May the stars guide you.”

  “And their light protect you,” he responded instinctively. Concern flickered across Caleb’s face, and he almost stepped forward to catch her again but stopped himself. Her words darkened his expression, fists clenching in suppressed fury. “Your… old party? They were your party? How could they treat you like that?” His voice was cold, though worry and concern radiated from him. “Where are they now? Do you still associate with them?”

  Before Celestia could respond, the carriage door closed, cutting off their conversation. A royal guard approached Caleb, interrupting the moment. “I have some good news. Your assistant, Zara Belvoir, confessed. She pointed out that you—my lord—wanted to help Lady Pendragon. It seems your assistant was… jealous. At least, that is what we were able to understand. Typical for a woman.” He paused, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “On another note, we were able to erect a blocking barrier. No one could see or hear anything. With that, we’ll take our leave.”

  As the carriage started moving, Caleb’s expression darkened further. He clenched and unclenched his fists, fighting to control his anger. His golden eye glowed with intensity, but he took a few deep breaths, stepping back to let Celestia leave. Why do I care so much about this woman that I just met today? Why does this make me so angry? I can't understand this one bit! By the fricking stars, I should have helped her earlier.

  Caleb sighed, running a hand through his hair, guilt etched across his features. “Okay…” he murmured as he walked back into the city office atrium. Noticing Celestia’s shoulder bag sprawled on the floor, he bent down, stuffing the scattered contents back inside. Wondering if this meant they would meet again in the future.

  Meanwhile, the carriage rolled down the street. Celestia gazed out the window, watching Caleb and the City Office grow smaller with each passing moment. With a weary sigh, she leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes. When the carriage finally stopped, the coachman gently roused her. She thanked him and, feeling for her keys, was surprised to find her shoulder bag hadn’t fallen forward as usual. It dawned on her that she had left it behind in the city office building. I guess I need to start a new notebook; she thought, a hint of determination swelling within her. I will not go back there soon.

  Shaky but resolute, Celestia opened the front door, greeted her best friend’s Granny in the hallway, and ascended to her flat on the first floor.

  Celestia arrived home, her mind clouded with the chaos of the world outside. The flat, though small, was more than enough for one person, yet it felt suffocating today. She stepped inside, closing the door softly behind her, the weight of the past year pressing down on her shoulders. The flat was a perfect reflection of the disorder within her own soul—cluttered, disorganized, as though she had been living in the aftermath of a storm. The air, thick with the scent of musty books and lingering warmth from the fireplace, seemed to close in around her as she crossed the small corridor into the living area.

  The living room was a blend of worn, mismatched furniture, scattered books, and the dim glow of the fire casting long shadows on the walls. It was a space that had once felt comforting, a retreat from the horrors of the outside world. Now, it seemed to mirror the unravelling of her own mind. The couch was cluttered with books she hadn’t touched in days, their pages fluttering slightly in the warm draft from the fireplace. Her eyes flitted to the bedroom door—open, yet offering no peace. It, too, reflected the disarray she felt within. Large enough to fit a desk in the corner, the room was strewn with notes, papers, and items left carelessly behind, starkly contrasting how it had been when she first moved in.

  But it wasn’t just the clutter that overwhelmed her. The curse had left its mark in ways far deeper than physical appearance. Celestia’s skin had grown pale, the dark circles under her eyes more pronounced, her once bright eyes now sunken and distant. The burning sensation under her skin, the black veins creeping slowly up her arms and legs, had become a constant reminder of the poison coursing through her. Her breath came shallow, and the weight of her thoughts felt too heavy to carry. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt truly rested; the headaches, the foggy mind, and the sense of being constantly watched had worn her thin.

  As she moved into the bedroom, the overwhelming pressure of her thoughts finally broke through. She collapsed onto the edge of the bed, her body shaking as the tears she had been holding back for so long came spilling out. The weight of the curse, of everything she had lost, pressed on her chest like a suffocating hand. The voices she heard in the corners of her mind only added to her isolation. Hallucinations blurred her vision, making the room spin and darken, the shadows in the corners seeming to reach out toward her. It was as though the curse was devouring her from the inside, a constant, gnawing force that she could neither fight nor escape.

  Her body trembled as she fought for breath, the sharp burn under her skin becoming unbearable. The nightmares, the inability to heal, the weight of everything pressing against her all at once—it was too much. She wanted to break free, to escape, but every attempt to push through the haze brought only more pain and more confusion.

  With a shaky breath, she stood up again, the desire to do something to regain control overtaking her. She knew the reality of her situation—she could not heal herself, not without suffering. Her fingers trembled as she reached for a book on the shelf, its worn spine reflecting the many nights spent searching for answers. She sank back into the couch, her movements slow and deliberate, as if every motion took more effort than it should have.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  As she opened the book, her mind refused to focus on the words. The letters blurred, slipping through her fingers like water, but she couldn’t stop herself from trying. She had to find a way out. She had to.

  But even as she opened the book, the shadows in the room seemed to lengthen, closing in around her. A wave of dizziness hit her, and for a moment, her vision darkened as though a curtain was falling over her eyes. The burn beneath her skin intensified, and she bit back a cry of frustration, fighting against the overwhelming fatigue that threatened to pull her under. The dark presence, always there, hovered at the edge of her awareness, making her feel like she was never truly alone.

  She gripped the book tighter, her knuckles whitening, but the words remained just out of reach. The fog of her mind thickened once more. An overwhelming sense of helplessness returned, pressing down on her chest until she could hardly breathe.

  Celestia closed the book with a soft snap, her fingers lingering on its worn cover before reluctantly placing it back on the shelf. The weight of the day still clung to her, and she needed something—anything—to numb the pain gnawing at her body. She rose from the couch, her movements sluggish as she walked toward the bathroom. The hallway stretched before her, bathed in the dim light of the fire flickering behind her, but her focus was elsewhere.

  Inside the bathroom, she turned the faucet, letting the water run warm at first. She stepped into the shower, welcoming the initial heat as it washed over her. The warmth didn’t last long, though. Soon, she cranked the knob to ice-cold, hoping the frigid water would dull the burn under her skin. It didn’t take long before the chill bit into her, a sharp contrast to the constant feverish warmth that lingered just beneath the surface of her skin. The cold water stung, but it also numbed, dulling the relentless throb in her body for just a moment. She stood there for what felt like an eternity, letting the freezing water cascade over her, trembling with each shiver that wracked her body.

  When the cold became unbearable, she turned off the water and stepped out, her teeth chattering. She quickly brushed her teeth, the motion mechanical, her hands shaking from the lingering chill. Her reflection in the mirror seemed distant, like a stranger staring back at her—a pale, exhausted face framed by tangled hair and dark circles beneath her eyes that had become permanent fixtures. She wiped away the fog from the mirror, but the image remained the same.

  After drying off, Celestia made her way back to the bedroom. She didn’t feel like eating—her appetite had long since disappeared. She pulled on a loose shirt and pants, comfortable and easy, and quickly braided her hair in a loose plait, allowing the strands to fall around her face like a curtain. She sank into the warmth of her bed, the blankets pulling her into their embrace, but it felt like no comfort at all.

  She closed her eyes, but her mind didn’t allow her to rest. It wandered, drifting back to the events of the day. The meeting with Lord Nightglen—the young lord whose piercing gaze had fixed on her with such intensity. His golden eye, glowing like molten honey, had seen her. Really seen her. It had been unsettling, yet something about it had drawn her in. At that moment, it was as if he had stripped away the veil she wore for the world, understanding something deep within her, something she had tried so desperately to bury.

  Her breath caught as her mind lingered on him. She could still feel the weight of his gaze on her skin, a flickering warmth amidst the cold shadows that had consumed her life. Rolling onto her side, clutching the blankets to her chest, she sank deeper into the mattress as the pull of sleep began to claim her.

  But it wasn’t the rest she had hoped for.

  Her dreams came swiftly, like shadows stalking her through the corridors of her mind—haunting nightmares she had grown all too familiar with, twisted and contorted by the curse. She was back in the dungeon, a labyrinth of dark stone, her steps echoing through the hollow halls. But this time, the shadows were not just lingering in the corners. They moved. They whispered.

  And then he was there—Caleb, but not Caleb. The golden-eyed lord melted away, replaced by Ryker, her ex. His mocking laughter reverberated in her ears as he stepped forward, his dark gaze cold and piercing. “You think you’ve escaped me?” His voice was venomous, twisted. “You’re nothing but a fool, Celestia.”

  The darkness closed in, the walls of the dungeon narrowing, and the air thick with a suffocating presence. Ryker’s shadow loomed over her, and the voices began to speak, their words tangled and incomprehensible. The shadows reached for her, pulling her down into a pit of despair as Ryker’s figure morphed into something even darker—something far worse than the man she had known. His face contorted, no longer human, and his eyes were hollow and black like the very abyss she was sinking into.

  Her heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in short gasps as the nightmare twisted and coiled around her. The voices kept rising, louder until they drowned out all other sounds, their words turning into a horrific chant. She tried to scream, but her voice was lost in the noise, swallowed by the darkness that was now all around her.

  And through it all, she could hear Ryker’s voice, twisted and mocking, urging her deeper into the void. “You will never escape, Celestia. You will never be free.”

  With a sudden jolt, Celestia shot upright in bed, gasping for air. Her heart raced, the cold sweat clinging to her skin, her mind still reeling from the horror of the nightmare. She trembled, staring into the darkness of her room, but the oppressive feeling of being watched never left. The nightmare lingered, the echoes of Ryker’s voice still ringing in her ears, even as the room around her remained silent.

  She lay back down, her breath shallow and uneven, but sleep, elusive as always, refused to claim her again.

  ?? ━━━━━━━━ ?????°? ? ?°????? ━━━━━━━━ ??

  For a week, Celestia remained at home. After two more days, she gathered the courage to venture into the city dungeon alone. She needed to reach the tenth level, but without a party, it would take an immense amount of strength, mana, and potions. So, she packed everything she could, including a new notebook filled with notes on Caleb Nightglen, which had become a recurring theme on nearly every page.

  Celestia stood before the mirror in her bedroom, barely recognizing the figure staring back. Her breath trembled as her violet eyes, dulled to a lifeless grey, roamed over her reflection. Her pristine green tunic mocked her gaunt features. Her burgundy hair, once vibrant, hung limp in a dull braid like dried straw instead of silk.

  Unsightly.

  Portly.

  Stocky, plump… unbecoming for someone like you!

  The voices burrowed into her heart. Her gloved hands clutched her belt as if holding herself together. The gleam of her armour reminded her of the weight she carried—physical and emotional.

  Her once-radiant skin now looked sickly and ashen, with hollow cheeks and pale lips. Dark circles beneath her eyes betrayed endless nights of troubled thoughts and exhaustion.

  Your curves aren’t strength—they’re a failure.

  Look at you. Even the armour can’t hide how pitiful you’ve become.

  Her knees buckled slightly, but she steadied herself against the edge of the wooden dresser, the metal plating of her fingerless gloves clinking softly against the surface. She stared at the green scarf around her neck, its color meant to symbolize hope and renewal, but all it did was mock her fragility.

  You’re a shadow of who you were. What use are you to anyone? You can’t fight. You can’t win. You can’t even stand without faltering.

  A lump formed in her throat, and tears welled up, blurring the pale, defeated figure. Celestia longed to scream, to tear the voices apart, but lacked the strength. Her hands fell to her sides, shoulders slumping under despair's weight.

  "Maybe they’re right," she whispered, her voice cracking. She glanced at her reflection, which blurred further as tears slipped down her cheeks.

  She closed her eyes, a trembling sigh escaping her lips. I want to be strong. I want to fight. But how can I when I no longer believe in myself?

  The voices laughed, victorious, as she turned away from the mirror. Her steps were slow and unsteady as she moved to the door; she didn’t have the strength to fight them. Celestia grabbed her trusty sword and steeled herself for the journey into the depths of the dungeon.