The Criswell's Curse

Back in his chambers, an uneasiness grew inside of him, almost as if predicting a storm was arriving. Catherine’s words lingered in his head, passing on repeat. ‘The tides of power are changing.’ She had told him, in all her devilish charm, with her amusement-hungry smile.

After removing the relic, he quickly dressed his body back into the earlier attire and headed out. Even though he felt far more tired than before, he couldn’t delay his work any further. His subjects needed him, the kingdom needed him.

But, as he was passing through the halls, Ophelia appeared in front of him, walking gracefully, like a cursed magic. A large entourage quietly stood behind her, following in her footsteps. The prince’s eyes widened as he saw the platinum haired man, observing his surroundings. Their eyes briefly connected, but they soon met their rightful owner once again.

How did she find him...? Blake was astonished, not believing in the reality he had witnessed.

There was a saying within Ashen’s society, ‘if you see a man with white hair, you will die’.

What people didn’t know was that, within the realm, existed a secluded villa on the northern border, between the mountains and the ice-cold river. Many tried reaching it, but none came back to tell the tale. According to the registers, a tribe of people live there, hair and skin fair like snow, eyes with the color of the nature seeds. The tribe didn’t accept outsiders but, the few members who left and came to the outside world were extremely skilled warriors, assassins trained from birth.

The prince’s mind still recalled the events haunting the streets years back, when he was just 7. Night after night, corpses laid in the capital grounds, forcing whispers to circulate between people, calling said killed The Mountain Man. The one’s who claimed to bear witness to his atrocious acts, pointed him to be the same as the men from that village yet such killer was never caught - disappearing from the realm as quickly as he appeared.

After that, society grew fearful. They expelled people with extremely light hair from their regular circles; some were even killed in their sleep, distrustful of their family trees. Everyone was terrified of The Mountain Man, while others were simply looking for a way to earn easy cash with the reward gold.

About to make the curve to the next hallway, heading straight into the central area of the palace, his figure froze, seeing Ophelia and her entourage just mere steps ahead.

Should I just go...? He could easily take the lounger route, backing up and heading through the left side into his study and yet, he couldn’t.

“Ophelia! My dear!” A familiar tone, the same voice from before. Who was he?

He glanced, seeing Terrel Wharton walking around glamorously, as usual. His thick brown suit decorated with a large white handkerchief, contrasted his pearly buttons, all made of the finest materials money could buy. The shoes were pitch black, yet they shimmered with every step he gave due to the extensive amount of polish on them.

“Are you alright?” He walked closer. “Your wounds look serious. I wonder how you got hurt...”

Something was off. The way Terrel spoke wasn’t normal, the way he moved was rough, the strange smile on his lips was weird. The prince glanced at Ophelia. His eyes widened when he saw the intense trembling in her hands sheltering itself from sight behind her back. This was the man who made her lose her composure, the man who made her weak.

Terrel Wharton, her fiancé, was the man who terrified her soul.

Blake couldn’t take it, seeing her like that, pale as a ghost, in a state of utter horror, unable to even breathe. He just... had to do something.

“Don’t...” Ophelia mumbled, beginning to fall after misplacing her foot.

At that moment, he dashed and grabbed the girls’ waist seconds before it was too late. She was too thin, too weak as he could almost feel every bone in her body even with the thick dress on top.

“Are you alright?” She ignored his words, eyes still locked on that man. “Your fiancée looks unwell, Terrel. She should return another day.”

“Of course!” The nobleman gulped, keeping his emotions in check. Even if he was trying to gain his mother’s favor, that man wasn’t foolish enough to go against the crown prince. “I will take my leave then.”

In the prince’s eyes, everything had become quite clear. Her so-called fiancé didn’t see her as a person, a human to be cared for. To him, she was his personal doll, an item for his lust and greed, an object voided of feelings and emotions.

When he noticed, Ophelia was already far from him, knees sinking into the floor, head as low as humanly possible. “Ophelia Criswell greets the Crown Prince.”

“You may rise.” He ordered.

The girl rose but kept her head low, averting her eyes. Was she fearful? Was she judging him based on the rumors as well, like everyone else did?

A hint of disappointment hit his heart, causing it to faintly ache. Maybe he was thinking about something else, hoping for something more. And yet, it turned out to be extremely disappointing. In a sad attempt to cover his pain, his memory passed Ophelia’s weakness on repeat, forcing him to grow disgusted by such a frail being.

“Have a fast recovery.” Was all that he said before leaving, not caring about her soul in the slightest.