The Criswell's Curse

A ten minute walk was all it took for Ophelia and her newly acquired slave to reach the major streets, filled with busy people wandering from one side to the other. The smell of freshly baked bread and juicy grilled meat traveled through the air, forcing the young man to gulp.

Ophelia stopped in front of the “Bretwell’s”, one of the few secluded restaurants in the street. A small bell ringed when they opened the door, allowing the sweet fragrance of cooked rice and tasty vegetables to fill their nostrils.

Momentarily, some discourteous eyes glared at them, acknowledging their presence before burying themselves in the remaining food on their plates. Men, mostly knights, spoke loudly about their achievements in battle, bragging about their scars as if they were a prize of loyalty. At the back of the room, however, a handful of poorly dressed individuals glared intensely at this display of honor, minds covered in jealous thoughts.

She sat down at a small table right at the corner of the establishment. “Order anything you’d like.”

Moments later, a friendly server, still in her mid-twenties, lurked out of the central balcony. “Welcome! What would ya like, fellas?”

The slaves’ eyes were immediately drawn to the plates resting on the thick wooden tables scattered around the restaurant, steam pouring out of each one. He gulped.

“Go ahead.” The noble lady reassured him.

Still rather anxiously, he pointed to the opposite table, where a trio of men drank their beers with some roasted chicken and pearly white rice. The waitress smiled.

“And for you, Miss?”

Ophelia simply shook her head. She couldn’t bring herself to stomach anything right now, not after remembering what that sample of a demon had done to her body and soul, far too many times to count.

The slave knew he couldn’t trust this kind stranger but, the more his eyes analyzed her, the thinner she appeared to be, the weaker she sounded like. A strange feeling of restlessness was, undoubtedly, being born within him.

“You should eat.” He said.

The girl frowned, displeased. “And you should know your place.”

The server arrived and quickly placed the food in front of him before twirling her body back to another table filled with customers. “Enjoy!”

Some moments passed, but the slave’s plate remained untouched.

“You won’t get any energy from looking at it.”

His eyes were completely blind, as if they considered the food a delicacy from another world, too precious to even dare to swallow. Ophelia’s voice brought him back into reality, allowing his hand to grab the chicken’s leg in one swoop.

“What is your name?” She questioned, noticing that the environment between them had become lighter.

“Jade.” He stated after taking a big gulp on the large beer.

Momentarily, he stopped eating. His heart wanted to ask his new master so many things, too many things, but he knew better. He’d already seen it. The thin line separating him, a slave, from her, a noble. How far their social standings really were and what that entailed.

Hours later, they arrived at the vast green fields surrounding Ashen’s capital. The flow of people had subsided, leaving only a handful of commoners who rode on their stallions, hoping to arrive home before dark.

“I’m sure you have many questions.” The wind blew softly, the skies darkened, and yet she smiled. “I am Ophelia Criswell, second daughter of Duke Alvin Criswell. Now tell me, Jade, what would you like to know?”

They were both sitting on the ground, allowing the intense smell of nature to fill their nostrils to the brim. The slave observed her calm stance, confused by her unique behaviors.

A high-ranking noblewoman bought him, fed him, and ordered some handmade clothes for him. Her attitude seemed rather lax, as if her public image was nothing more than a trivial thing. Simultaneously, it didn’t seem like she bought him for nightly duties, but one could never be sure.

“Why only three years?” His eyebrows furrowed down as he waited impatiently for an answer. Was that how long it would take for her to tire of him?

Ophelia faintly chuckled, understanding the miscommunication at hand. “I will die when I turn eighteen.”

Jade’s eyes widened, partly from the beauty in her pitiful smile, partly from disbelief. A harsh breeze blew, forcing her hood to drop and raven hair to float. Against the warm rays of the setting sun, her color was even more rare. Her crystal eyes glanced at him, numb, unattached, as if her words were simply the truth.

“How do you know?” Deep down the slave knew something was not right, that her words weren’t lies, but he needed to be sure.

“Because it has happened nine times.” Ophelia sighed. “Every time, on the night of my eighteen birthday, a fire breaks out and I die.”

“So that means you...?” She nodded, and he gulped down harshly. If this was true, she had burned alive nine times. How was she still sane? “But how is that possible?”

“I don’t know Jade, but it is my fate and in three years, I will die again.” Against the remaining sunrays of the day, Ophelia’s pale skin turned warmer, and for the first time, he saw a genuine, yet painful, smile on her lips. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

The slave couldn’t think straight, yet his body felt a sudden attachment to the girl, to her lifeless eyes, numbed by pure despair. He wished to protect her, not because of some contract or because she ordered him to.

Noticing her carriage on the horizon, Ophelia got up and shook off the dirt of her dress to the best of her ability.

“Jade, you are mine.” She lowered her torso, touching the slave’s right cheek. “I won’t treat you wrongly without reason. I will reward your good deeds and protect you from harm. You’ll be able to live freely after I die but, until then, don’t betray me. Your eyes, your ears, your mouth...” Her fingers passed through the slave’s lower lip. “Your whole body is mine.”

She straightened herself, a strong breeze forcing her hair to float, shading the remaining rays of the sun. “Devote yourself to me.”

Reactively, Jade placed himself on one knee, gently grabbing her hand. He was no knight, but he knew the costumes of the land. He had seen them many times before.

“From now on until you die, I shall be yours and yours alone, Master.” His dry lips kissed the back of her hand as his hood dropped, allowing his silver hair to sparkle against the light.

Ophelia ended up frowning, slightly suspicious of his easy devotion.