The palace gave me a room.
It didn't ask.
Doors opened where there were no hallways. Stairs spiraled in directions that shouldn't exist. The bed was made of carved onyx and silk that smelled faintly of night-blooming flowers—and something older. Like dust and blood.
I couldn't sleep. Not with the walls breathing.
Not with the sound of footsteps outside my door… that never left footprints.
---
I rose before dawn and stepped into the corridor.
The torches lit themselves.
The paintings—gods, women, monsters—all followed me with their eyes.
There was one at the end of the hallway, covered in a black veil. I don't know why, but my body turned toward it like it remembered something.
I pulled the cloth back.
And saw myself.
No—
Her.
She looked exactly like me… only older. Regal. Drenched in power. A crown of thorns bleeding down her temples. Her eyes were nothing like mine.
They were cruel.
---
"Do you recognize her?" a voice asked from the shadows.
I spun.
The king stood behind me, arms crossed, watching me like a man studying a cage. Or a mirror.
"I don't," I whispered.
His gaze dropped to the portrait. "That was your first face. The one you wore when you cursed me."
I shook my head. "Why would I curse you?"
"Because I loved you." His voice turned jagged. "And you didn't want to belong to anything. Not even me."
He stepped closer. Too close.
"I made you a crown," he said. "And you burned it."
---
My heart was pounding, but I didn't back away. "Why bring me here again, if I betrayed you?"
He smiled—but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Because I'm still cursed, Vaeleria. Because every time you die, you return. Every time you forget, you look at me like a stranger." His voice dropped. "And every time… I make you fall for me all over again."
My throat dried.
"You're lying."
"Am I?" he murmured. "Then tell me why your heart breaks every time you look at me."
I hated that I couldn't answer.
---
He lifted his hand.
And from the air, he conjured a crown. Thorns. Silver. So delicate it looked like it would shatter if I breathed too hard.
But it dripped with blood that wasn't mine.
He set it in my hands.
"Put it on," he said.
"I don't want to."
"You already did. Once." His gaze bore into mine. "And when you did, the gods fell. So go ahead, my queen."
The crown pulsed in my palms. Cold. Familiar.
I should've dropped it.
Instead—I raised it toward my head.
And the moment it touched my skin—
I screamed.
---
To be continued...