Several weeks after the wedding, Juliet felt more alive than ever. Each kiss from Romeo carried a piquant sensation—like the vibrant stir of the first rain on parched earth. Every whispered word and gentle touch felt like verses of poetry woven from wounds that had yet to fully heal.
However, as the days melded into nights, something began to shift within her. It wasn't Romeo that changed, but rather the way Juliet experienced him.
She found she couldn't bear to be far from Romeo, his presence a balm to her spirit.
She couldn't close her eyes and drift into slumber without the melody of his voice echoing in her mind.
She couldn't untangle her thoughts if his gaze wasn't resting upon her, grounding her in the moment.
This was not mere obsession. It was an attachment that entwined like the delicate, whispering roots of a vine.
Softly, they crept from her heart, intertwining with Romeo's very essence, their souls meshing together in an intricate dance.
Fitran cautioned, "Blooded Affection is not a magic that lingers; it grows, much like a parasitic plant, which will begin to take."
"Take what?" she inquired, a cloud of unease settling over her.
"Time. Identity. Choices. Gradually, you will become him, and he will become you—until there is no more love, only a suffocating dependency."
Juliet gazed out of her bedroom window, her heart swelling with a blend of longing and trepidation. There was Romeo, sitting with a book in his hands, radiating calm and tranquility. Yet, amidst his serenity, he would occasionally clutch his head, as though hearing distant whispers that troubled his thoughts.
"Juliet," he murmured, his voice quivering slightly, "I saw something in my dream. An ancient ritual."
Juliet reached for his hand, sensing the cold tendrils of uncertainty wrapping around her emotions. "What did you see?"
"It felt as if I became intertwined with their blood, echoing through time, a century past. Capulet. My identity is slipping away," he confessed, his brow furrowed with the weight of the revelation.
She gazed at Romeo, anxiety tightens her chest. "Don't let that change you. I love you for who you truly are, in this moment," she urged, her voice soft yet firm.
Romeo closed his eyes tightly, a tempest brewing within him, as if he were struggling against the cacophony of voices invading his mind. "But…and what if I can never find my way back?"
As dawn began to stretch its fingers across the sky, bathing the garden in soft light, they remained side by side. "Juliet, I…" Romeo's words hung in the air, but they faltered, his voice barely a whisper. "I feel... presumptuous."
"Presumptuous about what, Romeo?" Juliet inquired, her heart racing as she sensed the tension thickening the air around them. "These rituals… they make me feel as if I'm losing myself," he admitted, his eyes glazed and distant. Leaning closer, Juliet gently pinched his cheek, a spark of warmth igniting in her gaze. "Remember, you are the Romeo I chose!"
He managed a faint smile, but doubt laced his words. "But what if I am just a shadow... fading into nothingness?"
On that enchanted night, beneath the sprawling tapestry of stars, Juliet stood resolute. "Give me your promise, Romeo. A promise that you will hold onto your true self," she implored, her voice unwavering.
Romeo, lost in the vastness above, watched the stars twinkle like distant memories. "I might just be part of the night's gentle light… waning with the passage of time."
"Look at me," Juliet insisted, drawing him back to her gaze, "We can forge our own rituals, ones that celebrate our love."
A newfound strength began to swell within him. "A bond that will not strip away our essence." Romeo looked into her eyes, longing reflected in his gaze. "For you, I will fight against the tide, even if… blood courses fiercely through my veins."
Initial Symptoms in Romeo: Dreams That Are Not His Own Romeo begins to experience strange dreams that plunge him into the shadowy depths of the Capulet palace. Within these surreal visions, a furious Vivienne looms over him, her voice resonating with an urgent command that he master the blood magic he has always shyed away from. The irony aches within him; he has never delved into the dark arts of blood magic, and yet her voice, filled with an unnerving authority, haunts him. Suddenly Aware of Juliet's Deepest Secrets. A flicker of clarity pierces through the fog of his dreams as he names the hidden sanctuary of Juliet's childhood—a name that dances on the tip of his tongue, that of an ancient doll she cherished, lingering like a whisper in his mind. The damp, musty aroma of the Capulet cellar awakens faint memories, flooding his heart with a bittersweet nostalgia, an inexplicable yearning that tugs at his very core. Small Psychic Wounds. After each intimate encounter with Juliet, he finds himself shedding sorrowful tears, caught in a whirlpool of emotions he cannot comprehend. It is as if every kiss they share pulls at the fragile threads of his soul, leaving behind small psychic wounds that resonate with each brush of their lips, a lingering ache that whispers of a deeper connection yet to be understood.
Juliet felt that every moment in their relationship was imbued with the essence of love. However, on the fifteenth evening after their honeymoon, she noticed something disconcerting—roots of blood—slithering from her body to Romeo's whenever their skin met. It was as if, with each intertwining of their fingers, these roots fashioned an invisible tether, forging a bond that melded their spirits in a dance of intimacy and sincerity. But when they finally pulled away from one another, the roots would tug back, like desperate strands stretching to reconnect, leaving deep, lingering traces of pain in their wake.
Juliet understood:
"This love grows not to be shared. But to devour."
On the old wooden table in the Montague room, a chaotic array of scattered papers lay haphazardly. Dark red ink, reminiscent of dried blood, splotched the pages like a haunting reminder of their turbulent bond. Among the disarray—a poem. Yet, these verses whispered a truth unlike any other.
"Lips that pray for wounds,
Born not of love,
But of a blood oath."
Romeo stared at that line, confusion knitting his brow. He couldn't recall crafting those words.
Yet the phrases—his own script. And the verses... felt alien.
Juliet slipped into the room, her eyes scanning the poem with silent intensity. Then she froze, her breath caught in her throat.
"Romeo," she began, her voice trembling like a fragile leaf in the wind. "Do you feel what I feel? As if we are connected by something profound and unsettling?"
Romeo gazed at her, lost in a haze of uncertainty, his expression as vacant as a fog-covered dawn. "Juliet, I... sometimes I feel as if I am merely a shadow of myself. Like the ritual you spoke of, all of this feels like a part of that magic, a dance of illusions."
Juliet shook her head gently, her fingers trembling like delicate leaves in a breeze as she reached for his hand, longing to intertwine their destinies. "No, this is love that binds us as one, a vibrant thread woven through our hearts. But that root—I see it every time we touch, pulsing like a heartbeat beneath the surface."
"Yes, the root... it's embedded in my skin," he replied, his voice betraying the ache in his heart. "I feel myself eroding, fading like an old photograph left in the sun. Is this what that blood desires?"
In a profound silence, both felt the heavy weight of uncertainty settle between them. The elements of blood magic surged and swirled, intensifying their anxiety and creating a storm within each of their hearts.
"I want to remember who I am," Romeo whispered, his skin trembling as if a new, unfamiliar magic was creeping through his veins, intertwining with the blood that bound them. "Juliet, can we go back before all of this takes me away?"
Juliet looked at him, tears cascading down her cheeks, glistening like fallen stars in the dim light. "I don't want to lose you either. We have to find a way to stop this magic from consuming us."
"We can't fight the blood, Juliet," Romeo said softly, his voice laced with resignation. "But I will fight for my memory, for us. I will not let this curse define who I am."
As if the air around them was thinning, Juliet slowly stepped back, confusion knotting her heart as she sensed the ominous change encroaching upon them. Yet, despite the creeping dread pooling in her stomach, her determination to save them burned fiercely, like an unquenchable fire against the gathering shadows.
"We will find a way, Romeo. We must have faith in our own strength, even if my blood flows intertwined with your very soul," she urged, her voice steady despite the storm brewing within her.
Romeo nodded slowly, the uncertainty etched on his face like shadows in twilight. "If this magic is an inseparable part of us, how can we hope to change it back?"
"As my ancestors taught me," Juliet replied confidently, her tone rising with an ancient wisdom. "We must journey back to our roots, unearthing the power that both binds and liberates us."
"I don't want to be entangled in the magic that leads to destruction," Romeo confessed, grappling with his sense of self. "But if I am ensnared by this blood, will you remain at my side?"
Juliet stepped closer, her heart aflame with an unwavering hope. "Always, Romeo. Love and blood flow through one single vein."
"That..." murmured Romeo, "is the ancient poetic style of Capulet."
"The style of my great-grandmother, Rosaria Capulet, renowned for weaving magic into verses that dance between love and death," Juliet added, her eyes glimmering with pride.
Romeo spoke softly, his voice barely a whisper, as if he feared disturbing the shadows. "I dreamed of a small temple hidden underground, of blood pouring into a stone bowl, dark and cold."
"That... is a dream I once had," Juliet whispered, her breath hitching at the memory, the weight of their shared fate pressing down upon her.
"I know, Juliet. I know everything—like the color of your cloak the first time you wielded Capulet magic, vibrant against the fading light."
Juliet instinctively stepped back, unraveling slightly from the tangled web of emotions. This retreat was not driven by fear of the man before her, but by the haunting uncertainty of whether he still contained any remnants of his former self.
"Romeo, you are not just a part of me; you are the most important part," Juliet said, her voice trembling, each word a plea hanging in the thick air. She searched his mysterious eyes, those once familiar orbs now shrouded in shadows, trying desperately to find the fragments of the man she loved. "You can still choose who you want to be."
Romeo shook his head, a storm of emotions swirling within him, feeling utterly overwhelmed. "Juliet, this blood... it feels like a curse, binding me to a fate I never wished for. This magic transforms me every fleeting second, twisting my essence into something unrecognizable."
In that suffocating silence, the unseen presence of the Capulet gods wove a delicate dance around them, stretching the fragile line that separated love from fear, nearly tangible yet infinitely elusive.
"I don't want to lose you," Juliet pleaded, tears cascading down her cheeks like a gentle rain, each drop a testament to her heartache. "Fight against it!"
"I struggle, but every word I speak now is a verse of this spell," Romeo replied, his voice hoarse and ragged, as if he were pushing against an unrelenting tempest. He pressed his face into his hands, the weight of his burdens palpable. "Will you still love me if all of this disappears, if the man you once knew becomes a mere whisper of the past?"
Juliet felt a tightening in her chest, her heart a wild drum echoing the tension that lay between them. "My love does not depend on your form, but I fear what you may become, the shadows that might consume you and leave nothing but echoes of your laughter."
Day by day, the shadows of transformation surrounded Romeo, becoming more evident with each passing hour. With a voice that trembled like the leaves caught in a fierce storm, he began to invoke the ancient deities of the Capulet lineage, his words tinged with a haunting nostalgia for the Montague protectorate that once flowed effortlessly from his lips. Each time his fingers grazed against Juliet's soft skin, he whispered ancient rituals that hung in the air like a spell, creating a mesmerizing atmosphere that was both gentle and powerful, as if he were trying to stitch together the frayed fabric of their destiny.
"Juliet," he breathed, his tone emerging as a delicate vow from the depths of his soul, "will you keep my spirit safe when this dreaded curse consumes everything?"
Juliet bit her lip, feeling the tempest of emotions swirling within her. "As long as you remember me, I will cherish you in my heart," she replied, stepping closer to caress his cheek with her trembling fingers. "When all this magic fades away, what will remain of you?"
Romeo felt the unspoken tension between them, as if a fragile thread was slowly unraveling. "I'm afraid," he confessed, his voice a mere whisper barely carried by the wind. "Afraid of losing myself, and you… can you still love me?"
Not only were their souls divided by the chasm of fate, but the very world around them seemed to distort, mirroring their inner conflict as shadows danced between fear and the hope for redemption.
One of his poignant poems lay abandoned at the foot of the Montague family altar:
"Will you love me, even if I become you? Is love still pure, if my voice echoes your pain?"
Lord Montague read the words, his heart heavy with unspoken fears. That night, he called for the family priest, the echo of their shared grief resonating in the silence of his chamber.
"My son is no longer just my son. Another soul has taken residence within his blood," he lamented, his voice cracking under the weight of revelation.
In the altar room, Juliet wept, her tears tracing paths down her cheeks and soaking into the richly carved wooden frame that surrounded her. The gentle sobs mingled with the sultry air, filled with the scent of burning candles, casting flickering shadows that danced in a mystical embrace.
She understood what was happening; the entwined fates between her and Romeo were more profound than mere affection.
The magic of Blooded Affection had seeped deep into her魂, intertwining their beings beyond the mortal realm. Romeo was absorbing not just her feelings, but also the lingering shadows of trauma and soul from the Capulet lineage that coursed through her veins.
Under the vast, star-studded sky, illuminated by the moon's soft glow, Juliet turned to Fitran, her voice trembling with desperation:
"Can we separate them without killing that love?"
Fitran, enigmatic as ever, replied with a blend of darkness and calm:
"You can separate water and fire… but both will lose their original form."
In the cold, stone basement of the ancient Montague temple, Fitran stood resolute before the weathered altar. Beside him, Juliet was a picture of fragile strength; her body trembled, and her eyes were rimmed with red from a night spent weeping. Yet, despite her exhaustion, her hands remained outstretched, accepting the small dagger engraved with an ancient spell as if it were a lifeline.
"This is not ordinary ink," Fitran said, his voice low and serious. "It reflects your soul, Juliet. If you do not truly love him—not because of blood ties or enforced bonds, but for who he is at his very core—then this ink will turn to poison. And his name will fade into oblivion."
Juliet bit her lip, her heart echoing the weight of his words. With trembling hands, she traced the glimmering dagger across her palm, feeling the sharp sting as thick red blood welled up and dripped down, mingling with her tears that splashed silently into the crystal bowl resting atop the altar.
The ink materialized, glowing with an ethereal radiance. It was neither a vibrant red nor a deep black. Instead, it shimmered with a delicate silver, reminiscent of moonlight softly spilling through thick clouds, a wistful tear glistening in the darkest night of the world, crafting a magical moment within the oppressive stillness of the temple.
"Juliet, am I…" Romeo hesitated, his once-familiar voice now trembling with uncertainty.
"You are no longer… fully yourself, Romeo," Juliet replied, each word piercing her heart like shards of ice. "This magic is gnawing at your very identity."
Romeo extended a trembling hand toward Juliet's heart but halted, confusion etched across his pale face. "What remains of my soul?" His eyes, searching, reflected a deep anguish. "You are the light, Juliet. Without you, I… am lost."
Juliet felt the weight of sorrow tearing at her heartstrings. "How heavy it is to bear the entire Capulet soul within your blood. Can you truly feel me here, amidst this turmoil?"
"There is a ritual we can perform," Juliet said, her voice echoing the flickering remnants of hope, even as her soul writhed in despair. "I must remind you who you are."
"What is it?" Romeo asked, his voice thick with longing, each word trembling as if it carried the weight of his despair.
"Using ink from my soul, we can summon the hidden memories," Juliet replied, her grip tightening around the hilt of a gleaming dagger, its blade catching the dim light like a beacon of hope. Her breath hitched with uncertainty. "But the risk…"
"I don't care," Romeo insisted, determination threading through his voice, growing stronger despite the distance that seemed to stretch between them. "I want to rediscover myself, Juliet. I will risk everything."
Juliet searched deep into Romeo's eyes, which reflected a shattered past yet flickered with the fragile light of hope. "Then we shall begin," she declared, her heart pounding in a rhythm of possibility.
"You must promise," Juliet implored, her emotions surging like crashing waves, threatening to overwhelm her. "You will not give up on yourself."
"Under stars and blood," Romeo swore, his resolve and vulnerability intertwining, "I will fight for my name. So show me how to return."
Juliet gazed into the depths of his eyes, once vibrant with enthusiasm but now shrouded in shadows. "Together we will triumph," she declared, her voice steady with unwavering conviction, "even if the world around us descends into darkness."
Fitran explained, "The Ink of Divination can only be used once. And only for one sentence."
"One sentence?" Juliet questioned, her brow furrowing in contemplation.
"One sentence that will determine the fate of Romeo's soul: to return… or to vanish," he stated, the gravity of his words hanging in the air like an unmovable shadow.
With focused determination, Juliet took a parchment made from silphium skin and wielded a delicate phoenix bone quill, feeling the weight of destiny in her hands:
"Romeo, return to being yourself… not because I love you, but because you deserve to love yourself."
As the ink met the parchment, an eerie stillness enveloped the world, as if time itself had taken a breath. The wind ceased its dance, and the flickering candle's flame curled backward in defiance of nature. Within the confines of a room filled with poetic musings, Romeo's weary soul—lost amidst verses of love and despair—screamed.
In the depths of his slumber, Romeo wandered through a grim corridor drenched in crimson, where shadows seemed to pulse with a life of their own. The haunting voice of an elderly Capulet woman echoed through the darkness, wrapping around him like a shroud.
"Continue our legacy. Let your body be the vessel where our poetry thrives…"
Yet, amidst the shadows, a softer voice emerged—a tender whisper that cut through the gloom. It was Juliet's voice, familiar yet transformed; she spoke not as a Capulet, but simply as Juliet, a beacon of light in the treacherous dark.
"Romeo... remember the sunlight in our first garden."
Warmth flooded through Romeo, igniting a flicker of hope within him, even as he grappled with the fragments of something irrevocably lost.
"The sunlight… it feels like an erased memory," he replied, his voice trembling, as if the essence of those lost days lingered just out of reach.
Juliet stepped closer, her gaze filled with concern as she tried to pierce through the fog enveloping his soul. "Don't let that blood control you. Remember who you were before all of this darkness fell upon you."
"Juliet… I'm afraid of what I might do," Romeo whispered, his brow furrowed, confusion swirling like storm clouds in his mind.
"We are all bound by a heavy legacy. But remember, it is not blood that gives you life. You are… Romeo," Juliet asserted, her voice imbued with warmth and hope, reaching out to the very core of his being.
Romeo lowered his head, the burden on his soul weighing heavily, "But this blood… I can't, I no longer know who I am," he murmured, grappling with the shadows of his identity.
Visions flooded his mind like a deluge, lifting the curtain of time to reveal precious moments that shimmered like stars against the backdrop of his troubled heart.
"Remember the sweet wine we stole beneath the ivy tree?"
Romeo closed his eyes, letting the warmth of that cherished memory wash over him like a gentle summer breeze. Yet, deep within, a part of him began to wither, as if the vibrant colors of his past were fading to gray.
"I want to go back, but this blood is changing me, Juliet," he confessed, his hands trembling like fragile leaves caught in a storm.
Juliet gently patted Romeo's arm, her touch as soothing as the dawn light breaking through the darkness. "Every time we engage in this ritual, piece by piece, we fade away. But you are still here, within my soul, intertwined in ways that defy the shadows."
"But… if I disappear, what will be left for you?" Romeo asked, his voice low and hoarse, thick with fear as if he were staring into an abyss that threatened to swallow him whole.
"The remnants of us. Our story. Your love," Juliet replied firmly, her fingers gently holding Romeo's cheek, guiding his gaze to meet hers with unwavering intensity.
"Is that enough?" Romeo questioned, doubt swelling in his heart like dark clouds gathering for a tempest.
Juliet smiled bitterly, her expression reflecting both pain and resolve. "Love is always enough, forever."
At the edge of darkness, where shadows trembled like a gentle night breeze stirring the leaves, she whispered, "Remember who you are—before my blood touches your veins."
Romeo felt tears streaming down his face, each drop a testament to his turmoil. "I want that, Juliet. But I'm afraid… I'm not strong enough to resist this pull."
"Strength lies in your choice, Romeo. Even though this magic tries to pull you away, you still possess it," Juliet said softly, her hand tenderly caressing his hair as if she were trying to weave threads of comfort into the very fabric of his being.
"Will you love me when I become unrecognizable?" he asked, his voice heavy with sorrow, as though he carried the weight of all their shared moments in his heart.
"Forever, I will love you," Juliet replied, her voice a melodious whisper that danced through the air like a gentle breeze. "I will find you in the hidden places within yourself, where no blood has power," she added, her eyes shimmering with determination as she sought to connect their hearts like two stars in the vast night sky.
Romeo nodded slowly, feeling the pulse of his soul vibrate with her words. "Juliet, even though this magic tries to change me, your unwavering hope makes me fight with every ounce of my being," he confessed, his resolve fortified by her presence.
"Together we fight, united in love and memories that flicker like fireflies in the dark," Juliet promised, gripping his hand tightly, her fingers intertwining with his as though they were weaving a lifeline amidst the chaos.
Suddenly, reality came rushing back, tremulous and raw, as they stood on the precipice of dreams:
Romeo awoke with a jolt, the weight of impending dread pulling him from oblivion. He fell from the bed, the thud echoing through the silence as he clutched his chest, the heart within him hammering against his ribcage.
"I… I wrote a poem about the sun…" he murmured, his mind swirling with fragmented thoughts.
"Not blood," Juliet whispered with urgency, her words delicate yet steeped in gravity.
In her hand, a small wound shaped like a flower blossomed. The mark of the parasite has been released.
Yet, the wound clung stubbornly to her skin, refusing to disappear.
Longing surged between them, a palpable current, but something vital was missing in the depths of Romeo's gaze.
"Juliet, I feel like a shadow of my former self," Romeo said, his voice trembling, each word heavy with the weight of his loss.
"You are no longer just Romeo. You are now part of this ritual, woven into its fabric. You must remember who you are," Juliet replied softly, a flicker of anguish dancing in her eyes as she held back her tears.
Romeo's head trembled, caught in the agonizing limbo between two worlds, one filled with light and laughter, the other shadowed by uncertainty.
"I just want to go back… to the time when we laughed under the golden sun, where the warmth embraced us like a mother's hug," Romeo lamented, his heart aching for the simplicity of those joy-filled days.
"That sunlight is us, Romeo. Don't let this strange magic change you completely," Juliet whispered, her breath a gentle caress against his skin as she reached out to touch his face with trembling fingers.
The touch ignited a spark within him, a searing warmth that marked a profound shift in his very soul.
Fitran's notes lay scattered nearby, remnants of the ritual that had left behind a swirling haze of purple smoke and a haunting aroma of the potent potion used.
"The Ink of Divination can only be wielded by those prepared to lose love… in order to save their soul. This ink does not heal; it merely points the way.
And if Romeo chooses not to return, then fate cannot be forced."
The atmosphere grew increasingly tense, burdened by an oppressive weight that hung in the air like dark clouds brimming with impending rain. Each second felt elongated, as if time itself held its breath amidst the fear that cloaked them.
"Juliet, I feel trapped in a never-ending labyrinth, the walls closing in around me," Romeo confessed, his voice now a shadow of its former strength.
"Romeo, remember, blood is not a punishment, but a sacrifice," Juliet asserted, determination igniting the hope in her eyes like a flickering flame in a storm.
Tears cascaded from Romeo's eyelids, soaking the beautiful memories they had woven together; they felt like precious drops nourishing the soil of their shared past.
"I want to go back to what we used to be—without all of this chaos, without this burden of choice."
"You are part of that strength, Romeo. Let this serum become your source of power, not your weakness," Juliet implored, her voice steady and unwavering like a lighthouse guiding a lost ship through stormy seas.
As their conversation deepened, Romeo felt an intense tug-of-war within himself, caught between the echoes of a lost identity and the shimmering promise of newfound strength.
A thick tension enveloped them, resonating with the weight of ancient biblical verses that reverberated through Romeo's mind, each word a haunting reminder of his past.
"Don't let this power erase who you truly are," Juliet urged, her voice fierce and unwavering, her eyes sparkling with an unwavering determination that seemed to shine brighter than the fading sunlight around them.
"But I… I fear I may never return. Too much blood has been shed," Romeo confessed, his voice a heavy whisper laced with doubt, each syllable drenching the air in sorrow.
"Blood is a symbol of transformation, Romeo. You must let go to rediscover who you truly are," she insisted, her gaze fierce and unwavering, locking onto his with an intensity that ignited the embers of hope within his heart.
He felt the tumultuous conflict swelling inside him, an emotional tempest that left him increasingly torn between the tenderness of love and the sanctuary of safety, caught in a delicate dance between his cherished old identity and the enigmatic allure of the new one that beckoned him forward.