Flashback
The throne room was eerily silent, the cold stone walls echoing only the sound of the King’s fading laughter. Misery’s body lay motionless on the ground, her pale skin a stark contrast to the dark red of the blood pooling beneath her. The King had left, content in his belief that she was dead—a lifeless pawn discarded in his endless game of power.
But Adrian stayed behind.
He knelt beside her, his crimson eyes scanning her still form. He pressed his fingers to her neck, searching for a pulse. For a fleeting moment, he felt nothing, and his heart clenched painfully. Then, faint and fragile, he caught it—a weak rhythm that refused to fade.
“You’re not gone,” he murmured, his voice low and urgent.
With a strength born of desperation, Adrian lifted Misery into his arms. Her body was limp against him, her head lolling to one side as he carried her from the throne room. His movements were swift but careful, his focus unyielding.
The journey to the witch healer’s hut was treacherous. Shadows moved in the dark, creatures drawn to the scent of blood. But Adrian didn’t falter. He navigated the twisting paths of the forest until he reached a secluded clearing, where a small, crooked hut stood shrouded in mist.
The door creaked open before he could knock, and the witch healer stepped out. Her sharp, penetrating eyes took in the scene—the lifeless woman in Adrian’s arms, the blood staining his clothes—and her lips curled into a knowing smile.
“You brought me a corpse,” she said, her tone laced with curiosity.
“She’s not dead,” Adrian snapped, his voice tight. “Not yet. I need you to bring her back.”
The healer tilted her head, studying Misery’s body. “It might be possible,” she said slowly, running her fingers along Misery’s arm. “But it will take time. And the cost is high.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened. “Whatever it takes. Just do it.”
The healer’s sharp smile widened. “You always were reckless.” She gestured for him to follow her inside.
The hut was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of herbs and smoke. Adrian laid Misery on a worn table as the healer began her preparations, her movements deliberate and precise.
“This won’t be easy,” the healer warned as she worked. “Her body is fragile, and her spirit is tethered by the thinnest thread. If she comes back, she won’t be the same.”
“I don’t care,” Adrian said, his voice unyielding. “She has to live.”
The healer glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “Very well,” she said softly. “But remember—everything has a price.”
As the spell began, Adrian stood by Misery’s side, his crimson eyes fixed on her face. He didn’t know if she could hear him, but he leaned close and whispered, “Come back, Misery. Please.”
The room filled with a strange light, and the healer’s chanting grew louder. Adrian didn’t move, didn’t blink. He wouldn’t leave her side.