I don''t understand this feeling. This strange, unfamiliar warmth deep inside me, like a ray of hope trying to bloom in the darkness.


    I should have died back there—alone, forgotten, like I always thought I would. I had given up, accepted that my life would end the way it always seemed destined to. But then he appeared.


    Why? Why save someone like me?


    It doesn''t make sense. I''ve spent my whole life learning one truth: people hate me. They always have. Yet, for some reason, he didn''t. He looked at me like I mattered, even when I didn''t believe I did.


    I shifted in my sleep, the faint crackle of a distant campfire blending with my thoughts. But the warmth wasn''t enough to keep the memories away. They came rushing back, unbidden, vivid as ever.


    I don''t remember much of my earliest days. But I remember having a loving family.


    We were happy once. I had a caring mother, a hardworking father, and… someone else. Someone special. My sister, Lyla. Her name feels fragile in my mind now, like a whisper I''m afraid I''ll forget. She was the one who took care of me, the one who made me laugh when no one else could. I can still remember her soft voice, calling me "Lia" when we played games in the garden, or how she would brush my hair before I went to sleep, as if weaving dreams into my hair along with the strands.


    I remember her so vividly. Lyla had long, wavy brown hair that cascaded over her shoulders, often adorned with a ribbon—yellow-orange, like the autumn leaves she loved so much. Her golden-brown eyes always seemed to sparkle with warmth, a mixture of mischief and kindness that made you feel safe just looking into them. Her skin was soft and fair, with a blush on her cheeks that deepened when she laughed, which she did often. She wore a golden-yellow sweater with delicate patterns woven into the fabric, always favoring soft, warm colors that mirrored her personality. Her earrings were intricate and floral, as if they had been plucked from the garden she adored.


    Even now, I can see her standing in that glowing autumn light, her hair catching the sun, holding a leaf in her delicate hands with that gentle smile that seemed to say everything was going to be okay.


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    Father wasn’t as talkative, but his presence was strong. He’d wake up before the sun to go fishing, his hands rough from the ropes and nets. Even after long days, he’d sit with us at dinner, sharing stories about the sea—like the time he swore he saw a fish so big it could’ve sunk his boat. One summer, he let me go with him. I didn’t catch anything, but he laughed and said, “That just means you’re saving them for next time.” That day is still one of my happiest memories.


    They made life simple and full of love, and those moments stay with me wherever I go.


    Together, they built a home filled with love and laughter. It wasn''t much, but it was everything to me. And Lyla, she was the anchor, the steady one who kept us together when the world outside seemed too big or too difficult.


    We lived in a small village near the shore of Celestine Realm. A village that seemed caught between the gentle ebb of the sea and the great expanse of a land I never fully understood. The village was peaceful, with cobblestone streets that led to tiny cottages, their roofs some covered in moss, as though the earth itself was trying to hold us close. From our home, I could always hear the waves crashing softly against the rocks, a sound that felt like a lullaby, soothing in its rhythm. The beach stretched endlessly, golden sands meeting the rolling tides, and when the sun set, it painted the sky in shades of pink and orange that made everything feel like it was touched by magic.


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    I used to wonder why it was called the Celestine Realm. There was a beauty here that felt otherworldly, but I didn’t know much about the continent. My village, Aloria, was small and quiet, nestled between rolling hills and the sea. I’d heard bits and pieces—stories passed between the elders or whispered around the campfires—but I’d never asked about the world beyond our shores. Sometimes I’d catch myself staring at the horizon, wondering what lay beyond the blue, what secrets the land of Celestine might hold. But the question always felt too big, too far away from the peaceful life in Aloria.


    The beauty of our village never ceased to amaze me. The way the waves glinted in the sunlight, or how the breeze carried the salty tang of the sea, mixing with the scent of wildflowers. It was a place where every sunset felt like a promise, and every morning seemed to bring new hopes. How could I not feel blessed living in such a place? How could I have known that everything I loved could change so quickly?


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    It was winter when we sat by the lively lake near the village, the kind of winter that turns everything soft and quiet. Snow blanketed the ground, muffling our footsteps and covering the world in white. The lake, though surrounded by ice and frost, refused to freeze entirely, its waters shimmering under the pale light of the sun. I remember how we sat close, wrapped in warmth from layers of clothing and something less tangible—a shared silence admiring the view.


    Our village was a lively place, full of faces I once adored. I had friends—a whole group of them. We were inseparable, dreaming of adventures we''d one day share.


    Mira tried to skip a rock across the lake—or tried to. It plopped into the water with a sad little splash.


    “One day, I’ll leave this small village and travel beyond the mountains,” she declared, as if the failed stone throw didn’t just happen. “I’ll find magical cities and forgotten treasures.” She turned to us, hands on her hips. “And when I do, you’ll all wish you came with me.”


    “Oh, sure,” Toby said, crouching to pick up a rock. “You’ll be off hunting treasure, and who’ll be here building our fort? Me. Like always.” He tossed his rock, and it bounced across the water with a perfect rhythm. “You know, the one you promised to help with last week.”


    “You call sticking a bunch of twigs, rocks, branches together a fort?” Elise cut in, her voice soft but sharp, like always. “Face it, Toby, the monkeys are using it as a storage shed.” She smirked, threading a small flower into her braid. “Not exactly dragon-proof.”


    “Hey!” Toby crossed his arms, puffing up like a rooster. “Let’s see you do better, Miss Flower Crowns!”


    “Maybe I will,” Elise replied calmly. “But at least I wouldn’t need Ronan to rescue me from my own mess.”


    Ronan leaned down to the ground, smirking. “Let’s face it, Toby. Without me, you’d all be lost. Who’s the one saving everyone from trouble all the time?” He puffed his chest, trying to look important. “That’s why I’m the leader of this group.”


    Mira raised an eyebrow. “Leader?” she repeated, barely hiding her laugh. “Did we vote on that, or did you just decide while you were lost alone in the woods last time?”


    Ronan’s grin faltered. “I wasn’t lost. I was—uh—observing. Leaders do that for their members.”


    “Sure buddy,” Fiona piped up, rolling her eyes. “You’re the leader until someone mentions work, then you’re suddenly ‘too busy.’” She then suddenly bolted toward the river with a laugh, calling over her shoulder, “First one to the shore is the real leader! Last one has to do double the chores!”


    “Hey!” I yelled, taking off after her. “That’s not how this works!”


    “Looks like I’m winning,” Fiona called, her voice echoing as she dashed ahead.


    By the time we all reached the river—Fiona, of course, already there—Toby was panting, Mira was glaring at her soaked boots, and Ronan had mistakenly slipped and fell face flat onto the water.


    “You know,” Toby said, sitting down in defeat, “when I build my kingdom, I’m not inviting any of you. You’ll all be begging to come, but nope. Only the monkeys can join.”


    “You’re building a kingdom?” Mira asked, trying not to laugh. “Out of what? Sticks and wishes?”


    “It’s called vision,” Toby retorted, puffing up again. “A true leader like me has it.”


    “Then I guess you’re not the leader either,” Elise teased, her voice as steady as her hands weaving flowers.


    Ronan finally reached us, fully soaked in water. He leaned down around a tree with a triumphant smirk. “Face it, I’m the only one qualified. I’ve got the skills, the smarts, and the guts.


    “Guts?” Fiona laughed, splashing water toward him. “You’re the same Ronan who ran screaming when Toby lit that tiny campfire too close to you!”


    “It wasn’t tiny!” Ronan shot back, gripping the branch tighter. “And the flames were right there! I am just a bit scared of fire!”


    As their laughter filled the air, I couldn’t help but think about how one day, maybe we really would make kingdoms, fight dragons, or even find magical cities. But for now, we were just us—perfectly imperfect, with a kingdom made of laughter and dreams.


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    Then there was Kiel, quiet but kind. He found me crying once, hiding under a tree, and simply sat with me, his book in hand. That was the kind of person he was—always there when you needed him, even if you didn''t realize it.


    While the rest of us were racing toward the river, laughing and shouting, Kiel barely even looked up from his book. He just strolled along, one hand tucked in his pocket, the other flipping a page.


    “You all just wasted a bunch of energy,” he said, his voice calm and unaffected.


    I rolled my eyes. “Of course, you’d say that” I muttered, half-smiling. “You’re not even trying. You wouldn’t race us even if we placed you right in front of the finish line.”


    He gave me a look that could have been considered a smile, but it was more like the subtle upturn of a corner of his mouth. “I don’t see the point in rushing. You’ll all just end up out of breath, and for what?”


    “You’re such a weirdo sometimes,” I said, shaking my head. But I couldn’t deny the little flicker of warmth inside me. Kiel was always the one who didn’t need to prove anything to anyone. The one who always took his time, no matter what. He wasn’t like the rest of us, charging ahead, driven by the need to be first, or to be noticed.


    He was the kind of person who simply was, and honestly, there was something admirable about that. Even if it drove me crazy sometimes.


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    After a while, as we all gathered by the river, catching our breath from the laughter and games, I heard a voice calling out from behind us.


    “Lia!” It was Lyla. She came rushing toward us, wide-eyed and looking around in surprise when she saw all of us—especially Ronan, who was dripping wet, his hair sticking to his face. She burst out laughing. “What happened to you guys? Did someone try to drown you or is this your idea of fun?”


    Ronan, still trying to recover his composure, shot her a glare. “It wasn’t my fault! We were—uh, we were—having a very serious race, and the river just got a little too enthusiastic!”


    Kiel, who had been leaning against a nearby tree, tucked his book under his arm and shrugged. “It’s just us playing games together, nothing serious.”


    Lyla raised an eyebrow, but the smile on her face showed she wasn’t fooled. “Well, that’s good to hear. You all look like you could use a warm fire instead of more of whatever this is.”


    As she turned toward Fiona, her tone shifted, becoming lighter. “So, Fiona, still collecting flowers, huh?”


    Fiona’s eyes lit up, and the two of them quickly fell into an easy conversation about the different types of flowers growing nearby, with Lyla enthusiastically listening to Fiona''s descriptions of each one. It was always like this between them—Fiona, always eager to talk about the wonders of nature, and Lyla, her interest genuine and bright.


    I watched them for a moment, the warmth of the scene making my chest tighten slightly. The sound of their voices was comforting, like a song that had played for so long, you knew it by heart.


    Finally, as the laughter and chatter died down a little, Lyla sighed softly, her gaze drifting toward the horizon. “I really miss those happy days of my life.” Her voice was quiet, almost wistful, as though she was looking back on something precious—something she couldn’t quite reach anymore.


    I couldn’t help but feel the same.


    In our village, it was tradition for children to receive their names only after their 10th birthday. Before that, we were simply called by whatever name our parents felt suited us, but it wasn’t permanent. The village believed that naming a child too soon could invite misfortune, that a curse might slip in before the name could shield them properly. So, before reaching the age of ten, you were a nameless soul, drifting between the world of childhood and something more.


    To outsiders, it must have seemed odd—this hesitation to name a child, this superstition about curses—but for us, it was just how things were. Our village was overly cautious about curses, always wary of something dark slipping through the cracks. They believed that if a name wasn’t fully earned, it might leave the child vulnerable to a curse’s touch. Some of the elders would whisper that naming too early would make the child an easy target for any wandering dark spirit or curse seeking an opening.


    I didn’t know much about how curses worked, but Kiel had once explained a little to me when I asked. He was always the one who had a way with words, explaining things in a calm, logical way, even if it didn’t always make sense to me. “Curses,” he had said, “can cause sickness, pain... or worse. Sometimes, they can take over someone’s body entirely, leaving them nothing but a shell watching.” I remember his voice growing a little quieter when he said that last part, like even he didn’t fully understand the danger they posed.


    At the time, I hadn’t quite grasped the full weight of his words, but I could tell by the way he said it that curses weren’t something to be taken lightly. They were like shadows lurking just outside our peaceful village, waiting for the slightest crack to slip through. So, I suppose, in a way, the tradition of waiting to name us made sense. It wasn’t just about avoiding misfortune—it was about keeping us safe from something far darker.


    When the time came, the village would gather, and each child would be given a name—one that was meant to guard them against anything dark. But before that, I had no name of my own around that time.


    And so, my friends, they called me Stella. It wasn''t the name I was born with, but it felt right. It meant I was part of the stars, a piece of the night sky—something constant and bright, even in the darkest moments. It felt like a promise, one they made me believe in, even when I didn''t feel like I had a place among them.


    I had many fond memories with them. But there was one in particular I cherished the most.


    It was the Firebloom festival Night, the time when our village lit bonfires to welcome spring and chase away misfortune. The stars always seemed brighter on that night, and my friends said it was because the sky was happy to see us.


    That year, there was no joy in Firebloom Night for me. Lyla’s condition had worsened beyond anything we could have imagined. Each day, her breath grew weaker, and her once vibrant body seemed to wither under an illness none of us understood. The sound of her laughter, which had always filled our home, was now a distant memory, fading with every passing hour.


    I stayed by her side every moment I could, holding her hand as if my touch could somehow keep her tethered to this world. I whispered to her, telling stories she could no longer hear, her eyes barely open, her frail body too weak to respond. Smiling for her sake felt like breaking. Each smile I forced cracked something inside me.


    The medicine she needed wasn’t in the village. It was somewhere far off. Though it was on its way, I couldn’t sit and wait. A week felt like an eternity—an eternity she might not have.


    I couldn’t stand still, not while she was slipping away. As I heard the distant laughter of others celebrating the festival, the ache in my chest deepened. I couldn’t join them—not while Lyla needed me.


    Then I saw my father. His face, set with determination, appeared in the doorway, lantern in hand, ready to leave.


    “I’ll go,” he said, his voice thick with desperation. “I’ll through the forest and find the medicine myself.”


    “No,” the village chief’s voice rang out, firm and unyielding. Before my father could take another step, the chief blocked his way. “It’s too dangerous. Before the festival, the forest is filled with curses and monsters. You won’t make it.”


    My father hesitated, his fists clenched at his sides. Anger and frustration battled inside him. “I can’t just sit here while Lyla is suffering! She’s my daughter!”


    The chief shook his head. “And you’ll be no good of a father to her being dead. Stay where you are.”


    A heavy silence hung in the air. I could see the war in my father’s eyes, the urge to act warring against the knowledge that he couldn’t go. Then, as if something inside him broke, Lyla’s weak voice drifted from the house.


    “Papa…”


    My father froze, his face softening as he slowly turned toward the door. “Lyla…”


    “Where are you going?” she whispered, her voice so frail it nearly shattered me. She tried her best to make a faint smile.


    “Don’t leave me please.”


    Her words—so soft, so broken—stopped him. He sighed deeply, the weight of his love for her pressing down on his shoulders. Finally, he nodded, defeated and tears coming out. “I... I''ll be right here my daughter... But don’t you go stop smiling on me.”


    He stepped back inside, his resolve shattered. But as I watched him, a quiet resolve started to build in me. If it had been me in Lyla’s place, the one sick and dying there, she wouldn’t have hesitated. She would’ve gone alone without a second thought to help me.


    I couldn’t wait any longer. I couldn’t sit here and do nothing.


    I found myself outside, trembling as I packed a satchel with what little I could gather—a canteen, bread, a scarf Lyla had woven for me. My hands shook with each motion, the urgency clouding my thoughts. Tears kept falling, no matter how hard I tried to stay composed.


    I wiped my face with a deep breath, making my decision. I was scared—terrified—but I couldn’t just watch her fade away.


    I had been saving up silver coins for months, just a few at a time. I had enough—barely—but it was enough to buy the one thing that could save her: the healing potion.


    One last look at the house, at the quiet stillness of the night, and I turned toward the woods. The lantern cast long shadows on the path ahead. The journey was uncertain, dangerous even, but I had no other choice. Fear gripped me, but I couldn’t stop now—not when Lyla needed me.


    I grabbed the lantern from the porch, its flickering light barely steady in my trembling hands. The darkness loomed ahead, the forest stretching before me. I felt small, insignificant, like the shadows might swallow me whole, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t sit here and do nothing.


    “Please,” I whispered, the words barely a breath. “Let this work. Let me do something.” My voice cracked as I clenched my fists so tightly my nails dug into my palms.


    But they found me.


    "Stella! Where are you going alone?" Mira''s voice shattered the stillness, cutting through the tension that had built in my chest. She was the first to catch up, her breath ragged, eyes wide with worry.


    I froze, the strap of my satchel digging into my hand as I turned to face her. "I have to go buy the healing potion. Lyla doesn’t have much time left, Mira." My voice cracked, holding the tears I’d been trying so hard to hold back. The pain in my chest felt unbearable, suffocating.


    Mira stepped closer, her hands reaching out as if to comfort me, but her eyes… her eyes were full of concern. "Stella, you can’t do this alone. You''re not... you''re not supposed to carry this alone."


    Before I could respond, the others arrived, each of them carrying their own silent fear, their expressions hardening when they saw what I was trying to do.


    Toby burst through the underbrush, his face flushed from running, his voice sharp. "You can’t just leave on your own! What if you get hurt? You’re our friend!"


    I shook my head, a sharp, desperate breath catching in my throat. "I don''t have a choice. Lyla’s dying, Toby. She doesn’t have time for me to wait around for help."


    Ronan was the next to speak, his voice firm and unwavering, though the usual lightness was gone. "You''re not going alone, Stella." His stance was almost protective as he crossed his arms, his usual courage replaced by something deeper. "You can’t do this on your own. We won’t let you."


    There was a moment of silence, then a small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, though his tone remained serious. “Besides, I ‘borrowed’ a few swords from the smithy earlier. Figured we’d need them.”


    “You what?” Fiona snapped, her hands turning into a fist due to pure shock.


    “They were just lying there,” he said with a shrug, patting the hilt of one. “Call it... preparation. Someone’s got to think ahead.”


    “You mean someone’s got to explain this to the swordsmith when he notices his swords are missing,” I muttered, shaking my head.


    “Laugh all you want,” Ronan said with a wink, “but when the next monster shows up, you’ll be glad I’m here.”


    Elise’s voice was quiet, but there was an undeniable strength in her words. "We’re your friends, Stella. Let us come with you. We''ll help you go there." She reached for my hand, her touch gentle, grounding me.


    I couldn''t allow myself to bring anyone of them. The forest would be filled with monsters and curses at this time, it didn''t matter if we had any weapons or not. I couldn''t allow myself to get them in any danger. "I can''t ask you guys to help me like this. Please return back to the village for my sake."


    I tried to pull back, to keep my fear from infecting them, but Fiona was already beside Elise, cutting me off before I could say more. "You don''t have to ask, Stella. We’re coming. You think we’d let you do this by yourself? You’ve got more stubbornness than a whole herd of mules sometimes." Her grin was teasing, but the tremor in her voice killing the fear she was hiding.


    Kiel, who had been silent until now, stepped forward, his eyes softer than usual, his voice low but steady. "Stella... You don’t have to carry all of this alone. We’re here for you." His simple words hit me harder than I could have imagined, his quiet presence a steady anchor in the storm inside me.


    I wanted to argue, to tell them they didn’t have to risk their lives for me. But when I looked into their eyes—Mira’s wide, desperate gaze, Toby’s fierce determination, Ronan’s protective stance, Elise’s gentle resolve, Fiona’s brave smile, and Kiel’s quiet strength—I knew. They weren’t going to let me go through this alone, no matter what I said.


    They believed in me, and now I had to believe in them, too.


    We set out that night, the six of us walking through the forest like a barrier against the dark. Mira’s voice kept the atmosphere light as she kept on telling stories about the stars, spinning tales of mythical creatures and distant lands, her words laced with a kind of comfort I hadn’t realized I needed. Toby carried my lantern when my hands shook too much to hold it steady, his presence a constant reassurance that I wasn’t alone.


    Elise’s voice, soft and melodic, floated through the silence of the night, her song calming my fears, even the ones I didn’t know I had. Ronan led the way, his every step purposeful and calculated, yet there was a tightness to his movements. He was on edge, alert, and I couldn’t blame him.


    Fiona’s usual energy kept the tension from suffocating us. She cracked jokes, making us laugh even when the dark felt too heavy, her loud, carefree spirit somehow pushing the shadows back.


    Kiel walked beside me, his steady presence reminding me that no matter what happened, I wasn’t alone in this fight.


    Then, we encountered the first sign of something amiss.


    It wasn’t anything we could see, at least not at first. But I felt it—an unnerving, oppressive presence that seemed to hang in the air around us. My instincts were screaming at me, a very cold shiver ran down my spine. I glanced at the others, but they were too focused on the path, too caught up in their mission to notice the change in the air.


    Something was watching us. I could feel its eyes—dark, unblinking, hungry.


    I kept moving, my heart pounding in my chest. The silence around us felt unnatural. Even the usual sounds of the forest seemed muffled, swallowed by the unseen eyes on us.


    I turned to Ronan, my voice barely a whisper. "Do you feel that? Something’s out there… watching us."


    He stopped, eyes narrowing. He didn’t respond immediately, but his body tensed, and his hand hovered near his sword. "I don’t like this," he muttered, but he didn’t move. "Stay close."


    We continued on, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was stalking us, waiting for the right moment to strike. The monsters in the forest had always been unpredictable, but these creatures—these curses—felt different. They didn’t attack. Not yet.


    And I still couldn’t figure out why.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    The further we went, the more the forest seemed to close in on us. The trees loomed taller, the darkness felt deeper, and every step forward made my heart beat faster. My friends were brave, but even they were beginning to sense it, the change in the air, the unnerving silence.


    Then came the first attack.


    It was sudden. A creature, its body twisted and grotesque, lunged from the shadows with a speed that made it hard to follow. Its jagged claws sliced through the air, aiming for Ronan, who barely managed to draw his sword in time. The clash was brief but brutal, Ronan''s blade deflecting the strike by mere inches. He stumbled back, teeth gritted as the force sent vibrations up his arm.


    "Toby, light!" Ronan shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos.


    Toby fumbled with his lantern, the flame trembling like his hands. He swung it desperately, the flickering light momentarily pushing the creature back. But it wasn''t enough. With a snarl, the creature lashed out, its claws grazing Toby''s arm and sending him sprawling to the ground.


    "Get back!" Ronan bellowed, stepping in front of Toby as the creature closed in.


    Fiona darted in from the side, her agility unmatched. She hurled a rock at the creature, striking its shoulder. “Over here, ugly!” she taunted, weaving around it with quick, nimble steps. The distraction worked for a moment, giving Ronan the chance to land a slash across its side. But the wound seemed to do little more than anger the beast.


    It moved faster than any of them could react, slamming into Ronan and knocking him to the ground. His sword skidded away, just out of reach. Fiona tried to intervene, but the creature was relentless, swiping at her with claws that barely missed her by a hair’s breadth.


    "Ronan!" Elise''s voice trembled as she rushed to his side, dragging him back before the creature could land another hit.


    Kiel, silent and composed, stepped forward, his movements fluid and calculated. His blade flashed in the dim light, striking true. The creature staggered, snarling in pain, but it wasn’t finished. It turned its attention to me.


    I froze as its eyes locked onto mine, filled with a predatory hunger. It lunged, faster than I could process, its claws aiming straight for me. My heart thundered as I stumbled back, too slow, too vulnerable.


    But just as it reached me, it stopped. The creature’s expression twisted—its ferocity replaced with sheer terror. Its body trembled, its claws hovering inches from my face. Its once-predatory eyes were now wide, filled with primal fear.


    It couldn’t move. It just stood there, shaking violently, as if something invisible held it in place. I was too stunned to react, my mind racing. Why? Why had it stopped?


    The others weren’t wasting the chance. Kiel darted in, his sword a blur as he delivered a final, precise strike. The creature crumpled to the ground, lifeless.


    The forest fell silent once more, save for our heavy breathing. We were battered, bruised, and shaken, but alive. Yet the question lingered in the back of my mind—why had the creature stopped? And why did it fear me?


    I looked around, my eyes scanning the trees, the shadows, the path ahead. Something was different about these monsters, something more uneven. They weren’t attacking us because they were hungry or driven by instinct. They were scared.


    But not of us.


    My chest tightened as the thought struck me, cold and sharp. No, their fear wasn’t aimed at our swords or our numbers. It was something else—something near me, or maybe... around me.


    The realization was almost unsettling, but another part of me stirred, steady and certain. Whatever it was, it wasn’t just scaring them. It was protecting me.


    "Why haven’t they attacked us all at once?" I murmured, almost to myself.


    Kiel’s gaze met mine, his expression unreadable. "I don’t know. But we should keep moving. Whatever’s out there, it’s not done with us."


    We didn’t stop. We couldn’t. Not now. Every step, every breath, felt like it was leading us closer to something that could save Lyla… or destroy us all.


    When we reached the village and found the medicine, I thought my chest might burst from the weight lifting off it. The moment I clutched that vial, a wave of ecstasy washed over me—relief, hope, and joy all collided in a rush. It felt like a heavy storm finally passing, leaving behind only clear skies. The thought that I had the power to save Lyla, to finally bring her relief, filled me with a happiness I hadn''t felt in ages. There was no stopping us now. We didn''t even pause to rest, our steps quickening as if propelled by the weight of our mission. Every step closer to home only deepened the hope in my heart. I could save her. I could fix this.


    We arrived back at the house, and the moment we walked through the door, my parents rushed toward me, their faces filled with concern and a storm of questions. "Where have you been?" my father asked, his voice tight with worry. "What happened? Are you alright?" my mother added, her hands reaching to touch me, as if to confirm I was truly safe.


    But I barely heard their words. My focus was on one thing only: Lyla. I rushed past them, hardly noticing their shocked expressions, and headed straight for her room. I had to get to her.


    Lyla lay there, pale and weak, her body trembling from the sickness that had gripped her. She looked up at me, her eyes filled with worry. "Lia," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "Don''t come too close... the illness... you might catch it too."


    But I shook my head, not even hesitating for a second. "I don''t care about that," I told her softly, my voice full of conviction. "All that matters is your safety, Lyla. Nothing else matters."


    Her eyes softened at my words, and I could see the hesitation in them. I opened the vial, took the medicine, and gently helped her swallow it. My hands shook as I held her, but I didn''t care. All that mattered was the act of healing her, saving her from this torment.


    And then, as I pulled away slightly, I saw something in her eyes. A glow. It was the first time in days that her eyes were clear, full of warmth, and almost... relieved. It took everything in me not to break down right there. I watched as her eyes shimmered with the beginnings of tears. She tried to hide it, but I saw it—saw how she was fighting back the emotions that threatened to spill over. I had done it. I had saved her.


    For the first time in what felt like forever, I saw a glimmer of hope return in her eyes. And in that moment, I knew that I would do anything—sacrifice anything—to keep that light in her eyes shining.


    That night, I realized something I''d never forget—they weren''t just my friends. They were my family, the stars in my sky. And as they liked to remind me, I was Stella, one of them.


    I couldn''t have asked for a better group of people to stand by me, to give me strength when I had none left to give. Their kindness, their unwavering support—it meant everything. I was no longer alone.


    We were going to grow up and travel the world together. That was our promise. To leave the village, to adventure, to see everything life had to offer. I believed in that dream. In them.


    But everything changed.


    It was a month before my 10th birthday when it started. My hair began to fade, day by day, from brown to snow-white. At first, I thought it was a trick of the light. But then the pain came. My eyes burned constantly, so much that I couldn''t even cry. The more I tried, the worse it got.


    My parents were frantic, rushing me to the village doctor, trying remedy after remedy. Nothing worked. I remember my mother telling me to keep my eyes closed, whispering soothing words as if that would make it better. But nothing stopped the pain. Nothing eased the agony that gnawed at me every second.


    As time passed, I noticed something else—my eyes, once a bright, vivid shade, slowly started to turn grey. At first, it was just a faint dimming, a shift so subtle that I thought I was imagining it. But as the days turned into weeks, the change became impossible to ignore. The light in them was fading, like a candle burned down to the wick. I tried to keep them shut as much as I could, to hide from the changes overtaking me, but it only felt worse. It was as if I was losing myself, piece by piece, with no way to stop it.


    And the village noticed.


    I heard them talking—whispers at first, soft and fleeting. But whispers have a way of growing, gaining shape and weight. One morning, while walking through the square, I caught fragments of their conversations.


    "Have you seen her eyes?"


    "Grey, like a colorless world. It’s unnatural."


    "Maybe she’s cursed, that one. No wonder she’s always alone."


    The words stung, sharp as needles. I tried not to listen, to keep my head down, but their voices followed me.


    "I heard she’s not right in the head."


    "Maybe it’s not just her eyes. Maybe it’s her soul."


    "Mark my words, she’s bringing trouble to this village."


    Once, I turned a corner too quickly and stumbled upon a group of them. They didn’t even try to hide their laughter.


    "Look, there she is. The grey-eyed ghost."


    "Careful, don’t let her touch you. Who knows what kind of curse she carries?"


    I fled before they could say more, my heart pounding so hard it felt like it might break through my chest. The laughter followed me, echoing in my mind long after it had faded into the distance.


    One day, while the rain fell steadily outside, I found myself standing alone in the yard. I hadn’t meant to go out. I hadn’t meant to let anyone see me like this. But the rain—cold, relentless—matched how I felt inside. I stood there, unmoving, as the water soaked through my clothes, the chill seeping into my bones.


    I cried quietly, the tears blending with the rain, my grief soaking into the earth. My shoulders trembled, my chest heaving with silent sobs. For a moment, it felt like the storm was mourning with me, its relentless downpour masking the sound of my pain.


    But even then, I couldn’t escape their voices. From the safety of their doorways and windows, the villagers watched, their words cutting through the rain like knives.


    "Look at her. What’s she doing out there?"


    "Crazy girl. Maybe she is calling curses?"


    "She probably thinks the rain will wash away her sins."


    I clenched my fists, the water streaming down my face indistinguishable from my tears. The urge to scream, to shout, to tell them they didn’t know anything about me surged in my chest, but I swallowed it down. They wouldn’t understand. They didn’t want to.


    So I let the silence take me in. I stood there, crying, my grief drowning beneath the relentless rain. Alone, fading, with no one to pull me back.


    I accepted my mother''s idea and kept my eyes closed, hoping it might bring some relief. But as I did, the world vanished in an instant. The warmth of the fire, the faces of those I loved—it was all gone, swallowed by the darkness behind my eyelids. I couldn''t see anyone, couldn''t feel anything but the ache that consumed me. It was as if the world had turned its back on me, leaving me alone in the shadow of my pain.


    I stopped talking to people, locking myself away in my room. I didn''t want anyone to see me like that. I didn''t want them to see what I was becoming.


    At first, my friends would visit daily, their voices calling to me from outside my door, trying to coax me out with laughter and stories. My parents came too, their concern heavy in every word they spoke, while Lyla just wanted to sit beside me, quietly holding my hand. But I told them all to leave me alone, insisting that I was fine, that I didn''t need anyone. Slowly, one by one, they stopped coming. They left, just as I wanted. I thought it was better that way—better that no one had to see me like this.


    But Lyla wouldn''t leave me alone.


    She used to call me "Lia" out of love, saying it described how precious I was to her and that she would sacrifice anything to protect me.


    Every night, she sat outside my door, her voice soft and unwavering as she tried to comfort me. "It''ll get better," she would say. "I''ll be right here. Always." Her words carried a hope I couldn''t feel, like she was clinging to something for both of us.


    But sometimes, her voice wavered, and I could hear the desperation beneath her calm exterior. "Lia," she whispered, her words like a plea. "I know you''re hurt. I can hear it in the silence... please, let me in. You don''t have to carry this alone. You don''t have to hide away."


    I felt the weight of her love through the door, pressing down on me like the world was collapsing. "You don''t understand," I whispered back, my voice barely audible. "I can''t keep going like this. It feels like I''m drowning, and no matter how hard I try, I just want to disappear sometimes."


    For a long moment, there was nothing but silence. Then she spoke again, her voice trembling. "Lia, no... you''re not broken. You''re hurting, and I see that. But you are not alone in this. I see your pain, I feel it, and I''ll stay here—every step of the way. I''ll hold you when you fall apart, and I''ll remind you of the strength you can''t see right now. You''re more than this moment, Lia. You''re more than the fear and the doubt you feel. Please, don''t shut me out. I need you just as much as you need me."


    Her words felt like a lifeline, pulling me from the darkness, but I was too afraid to reach for it. Still, I could hear her—her heart in every word, her determination to keep me from slipping further away.


    "Lia, you''re my heart," she continued, her voice breaking. "You''re the reason I am alive. You''re the reason I keep going, even when everything feels impossible. Don''t you dare believe you''re alone in this. I swear, I will never leave you. I will fight for you, with everything I have."


    I wanted to believe her. I wanted to let her in, to feel her warmth, but I didn''t know how. The pain inside felt too heavy, too deep to share.


    I told her to go away. My voice was sharp, my words harsher than I intended, but I couldn''t stop myself. Again and again, I screamed at her to leave, my heart twisting each time I heard the hurt in her silence. But she stayed.


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    No matter how much I pushed her away, she stayed. Through the nights when I sobbed quietly into my pillow, convinced no one could hear. Through the days when the world outside my door felt like a foreign place I didn''t belong to anymore. She stayed.


    Some nights, I would cry alone, the tears falling silently as I curled into myself, hoping the darkness would hide me from the world. The pain, the loneliness, the strange changes—I didn''t want anyone to see. I didn''t want anyone to laugh at how I looked now, with my hair so pale, my eyes dull and grey, like I wasn’t even the same person. I needed to keep my suffering hidden, tucked away in the silence of my room, where no one could judge me. She never needed to see me like that, yet somehow, she always knew. Even when I tried to lock myself away, she stayed. And I don’t think I ever truly understood how much that meant until much later.


    Her voice was my lifeline, even when I pretended not to hear her. She told me stories, spinning tales of adventure and heroes who overcame impossible odds. She made up jokes—most of them terrible—just to coax a smile from me. I never gave her the satisfaction of a laugh, but her persistence was the closest thing to warmth I could feel.


    I never opened the door. Not until the night before my birthday. I don''t know what made me do it. Maybe it was the way her voice cracked as she whispered, "I just want you to know you''re not alone. Not now, not ever." Maybe it was the quiet sniffle I heard afterward, the sound of tears she thought I couldn''t hear.


    When I finally turned the handle and saw her sitting there, arms wrapped around her knees, her eyes red and swollen from crying, I realized something I hadn''t let myself believe. She wasn''t just waiting for me to get better. She was breaking too, and she was still there, holding on for both of us.


    I let her in, and the moment I saw her face, I broke. The pain, the fear, the loneliness—it all came spilling out in sobs I couldn''t control. Lyla didn''t say a word at first. She just wrapped her arms around me, pulling me close, stroking my hair like she always did when we were little.


    Lyla kept her tears from coming, not wanting me to cry with her. I could feel how much sadness she felt for me, the weight of it pressing against me as she held me. She didn’t have to say anything; I knew she understood my pain, the quiet sorrow that had been building inside me for so long. Her grip was firm, steady—an anchor in the storm that raged within me. She didn''t judge me for how I looked, for the way my hair had faded and my eyes had dulled. She only cared for me, her younger sister, as if nothing had changed. It was enough. In that moment, it was all I needed.


    "It''s okay, Lia," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Let it out. I''m here. I''ve got you."


    "I-I can''t," I choked out between sobs. "I can''t do this anymore, Lyla. I''m not strong. I''m weak—a crybaby who can''t handle anything!" My words felt heavy, as if saying them out loud only made them more true.


    "Don''t say that, Lia," Lyla said softly, pulling back just enough to look me in the eyes. Her gaze was steady, her voice firm but gentle. "You''re wrong. You''re so much stronger than you think."


    "How?" I asked, my voice breaking. "I push everyone away. I hide. I can''t even—" My words dissolved into more tears.


    She cupped my face, brushing away my tears with her thumbs, her touch gentle but firm. "Do you remember when I was sick?" she whispered, her voice trembling as she spoke. "How you stayed by my side, day and night? You never gave up on me, even when I was too weak to lift my head. You held my hand, told me stories, and made me laugh when I thought I''d forgotten how. You kept me alive. You''re the reason I''m here."


    I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak, my chest tight with the weight of everything I couldn''t put into words. But she wasn''t finished.


    "And now it''s my turn, Lia," she said, her voice soft but unshakable, her gaze never leaving mine. "You helped me when I couldn''t help myself. You gave me strength when I had none. It''s my duty—no, it''s my privilege—to do the same for you. You don''t have to go through this alone. I won''t let you."


    Her words wrapped around my heart like a lifeline, but the fear and shame held me back. I wanted to believe her, but the darkness in my mind felt too heavy to escape. She could see it though—the weight I was carrying, the despair I couldn''t shake.


    Lyla leaned in closer, her forehead resting against mine, her breath warm and steady. "You are not alone, Lia. I''m right here. Every step of the way. I''ll be the strength you need when you don''t have any left. I''ll carry you when you can''t stand. Don''t you dare think you''re a burden to me. You''re my sister. You are everything to me."


    The tears came again, but this time, they didn''t feel as heavy. They were just... a release. A breaking open of all the pain I had kept hidden for so long. I leaned into her, letting her warmth and love fill the cracks in my heart.


    "I''m scared," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "What if I''m too much for you?"


    Lyla pulled me into her arms, holding me tight as if she could shield me from the world. "You''ll never be too much for me, Lia. Never. I''ll always be here. You don''t have to be perfect, you just have to be you. And that''s more than enough for me."


    Her words sank deep into me, breaking through the walls I''d built around myself. "But I''m scared," I whispered. "What if I''m never okay again?"


    She hugged me tighter, resting her chin on my shoulder. "Then I''ll keep being here, every step of the way. We''ll face it together, one day at a time. You don''t have to be okay right now, Lia. Just know that you''re loved, and I''m not going anywhere."


    And for the first time in what felt like forever, I allowed myself to believe her.


    The morning of my birthday was the happiest I''d felt in weeks. My parents threw a party, inviting half the village. They told me they were going to give me my name, something they''d dreamed of for years. I wanted to keep my grey eyes hidden as long as possible, so I kept my eyes closed the whole way long.


    Mother wanted to call me Celestara, after the goddess who blessed Celestine. She believed that my snowy white hair, so much like the pure light of the moon, would be a perfect match for the name. My mother was deeply religious, and curses were her greatest fear. She made sure I never came in contact with anything she considered dark or ill-fated. To her, Celestara was a name of purity, of divine blessing, one that would protect me from any misfortune that might try to cling to me.


    Father, on the other hand, had his own idea. He wanted to name me Anastasia, meaning "resurrection" or "rebirth." He said it symbolized hope—perhaps the hope that even the darkest days could bring new beginnings. My father had a strange fondness for names that carried weight, names that meant something greater than themselves. I always found it funny how he could get so passionate about something so simple as a name, but to him, it was more than just a label. It was a symbol, a reminder that life always moved forward, even through the toughest times.


    Then there was Lyla. My dear sister. She wanted to name me Selene, after the moon. She said it represented the deep bond we shared, how she had always been there for me, just like the moon had always been there for the stars. Selene was calm, protective, and constant—just like her. She said the moon was always watching over the night, soothing the world with its light. And she wanted me to carry that same protection, that same serene presence in my life.


    It was a name that felt almost too grand, too perfect for me. I had always been Lia to her, a name that was simpler, more familiar. But Selene—Selene felt like something more. Something powerful. The way she spoke of it, with such certainty and tenderness, made it hard not to believe in its meaning. It was astonishing, really, how a name could carry so much weight, so much love.


    And of course, my friends—Mira, Toby, Elise, Ronan, Fiona, and Kiel—wanted me to be called Stella. They were all well over the age of ten, but they treated me as their equal, never once making me feel less than them, despite my age. They all said that I was a part of the stars, that I had a light inside me even when I didn''t believe it. They made me feel like I truly belonged, like I was meant to shine alongside them, no matter how small or fragile I felt. I was happy being able to call them my friends.


    Even though they were older, they treated me with such care and respect that I never once felt out of place. And in that moment, on my birthday, with the sun shining brightly and my heart full, I felt like their Stella—a name that made me feel as though I belonged.


    For the first time in a month, the pain started to completely fade away. I could open my eyes again, the bright sunlight almost too much to bear. My hair, they told me, had turned completely white. They said it suited me, that I looked like an angel.


    But when I finally looked up at my mother, everything changed.


    Her face, once full of love, now looked cold and hard. Her eyes were distant, like she was looking right through me.


    "Who are you?" she asked, her voice sharp and cold, cutting through the silence.


    I didn''t realize at that time, but my eyes had turned glowing red, a color I had never seen in myself before. They resembled the Queen of Curses, a woman of legend feared by all. I had heard stories about her—how she was the only one with eyes like mine. It was as if the curse itself had somehow seeped into me, though I never asked for it.


    She dropped to her knees, leaning in close, her eyes searching my face as if trying to find something—anything—that made sense. Her gaze was unsettling, like she was looking for a stranger instead of the child she once held in her arms.


    I blinked, confusion filling my mind. I reached out to her, feeling a strange sense of fear in my chest. "I''m Mommy''s little girl," I said, forcing a smile, my voice shaky. I stepped forward, arms open, hoping for the hug I used to feel safe in.


    But instead of holding me, her hand struck me across the face. The slap was hard, sending me to the ground. I could feel the sting on my cheek as I stared up at her, confused and hurt, the ground cold beneath me.


    She stood over me, her eyes wild with disbelief. Her voice cracked as she screamed, "LIES!" Her words were venomous, full of disgust. "How could you be mine? How could I have given birth to someone who looks like Her?"


    Her gaze flickered to my eyes, glowing with a cursed red, and the horror in her expression deepened. "You''re not my daughter... you''re a monster."


    The weight of her words crushed me. My mother, the one person I had longed to believe in me, was looking at me like I was something less than human.


    I looked up, tears stinging my eyes, and saw nothing but hatred in her eyes.


    The villagers were no better. Their cheers quickly turned to gasps, then whispers, then shouts that filled the air with fear.


    I could feel their eyes on me, cold and full of judgment. My friends, who had been close, began to move away, their faces stricken with disbelief. The moment they saw my eyes—those cursed, otherworldly eyes—their expressions faltered. One by one, they backed up, as if afraid they might be pulled into whatever darkness had taken hold of me.


    "A curse!" one man yelled, his voice trembling with panic as he pointed at me.


    "She''s the Queen of Curses reborn!" another voice cried out, followed by murmurs of dread from the crowd.


    "Stay away from her!" another shouted, fear seeping into his voice.


    I didn''t understand. I had done nothing wrong.


    I could hear the rustling of clothes as people stepped back, eyes wide with fear. A child clutched their mother''s leg, looking at me like I was something dangerous, something to be avoided. The elderly woman at the market crossed herself and hurried away, muttering under her breath. A man in the back spat on the ground, his face twisted in disgust.


    They kept their distance, staring at me as if I had just grown horns or become something unrecognizable. I stood there, trembling, not understanding what was happening.


    I had done nothing wrong. I hadn''t asked for this, hadn''t asked for any of it.


    But still, their eyes bore into me, full of fear, like I was a threat. A curse.


    Lyla was the only one who defended me, standing firm between me and the crowd. Her voice was loud and desperate, cutting through the rising chaos as she screamed at them to see reason.


    "Please!" she begged, her eyes wild with panic. "She''s just a child! She''s not a curse!"


    But the villagers didn''t listen. They only shouted louder, their fear growing. Even my father, who had once held me close, now turned away. He looked at me with disgust, his face twisted in anger.


    "She''s a monster!" he yelled, his voice sharp with hate. "A curse! We can''t let her stay here with us!"


    Lyla''s face twisted in agony as she reached out, grabbing my father''s arm to stop him from coming closer. "Please, don''t!" she cried, her voice cracking. "She''s just sick. She''s not dangerous!"


    The village chief''s voice rang out, cold and indifferent. "Let''s say we believe you for now," he began, his tone dismissive, as if her pleas were little more than an annoyance. "But if she doesn''t change back by tomorrow," he declared, his words like a death sentence, "she''ll have to be sacrificed. We can''t take the risk. She''s too dangerous."


    Lyla turned to him, her eyes filled with tears, but she didn''t back down. Her voice broke as she pleaded with him, desperately trying to make him understand. "You don''t understand! She''s just a sick kid! She doesn''t deserve this! She needs help, not... not to be treated like this!"


    She paused, trying to hold herself together, looking at him with all the hope she had left. "Please, Chief, you''re wise. You can see this isn''t what it looks like. We can find another way."


    But the chief''s face remained hard as stone, unmoved by Lyla''s desperate pleas. He shook his head, his decision final, a weight settling on the village''s future. "This is the only way," he said coldly, his words like a death sentence. "We can''t risk her bringing more danger to us all."


    Lyla''s cries echoed in the air, but they were drowned out by the growing roar of the crowd, their fear turning to anger. She called out to him again, her voice cracking, but it was no use. The chief had made up his mind.


    She thought he would be wise enough to stop this madness, to see reason, but instead, he sneered at her, his eyes cold. "You don''t get it, do you, Lyla?" he growled. "She''s a curse, a threat, and there''s no way around it. You''d better stop protecting her, or I''ll do what needs to be done. The village comes first. I don''t have patience for this. Why should I let everyone suffer when I can just kill her right now?"


    Lyla froze, her heart hammering, but there was no fear in her eyes. Slowly, she wiped away her tears, her face turning a serious expression of cold resolve. Then, with a deadly calmness, she spoke.


    "Why don''t you try it?" she said, her voice as cold as ice.


    The villagers gasped, stunned by the change in her tone. Lyla''s once gentle aura, full of desperate pleading, was now replaced with an aura of pure disgust and evil. The air around her grew colder, heavier, and a dangerous energy radiated from her like an approaching storm.


    Lyla took a step forward, eyes locked on the villagers.


    "I have more power than any of you realize. I''ve mastered ice, water, and fire magic—three elements you can''t even begin to challenge. No one in this village could even come close to stopping me, physically or magically."


    Her words were met with stunned silence. The crowd could feel the shift in the air—the power that had been hidden beneath her pain now laid bare. Lyla wasn''t just angry anymore; she was a force of nature, and every person there could feel it.


    As she spoke, her eyes began to shift, a grid-like pattern slowly forming in the depths of her brown irises, like a crosshair locking onto her targets. The intensity of her eyes grew colder, darker, as if she was about to unleash a force no one could comprehend. A wave of heat radiated from her, the air around her thickening with the crackle of fire magic beginning to surge within her. The villagers could feel the heat growing, and the unmistakable warning that if anyone dared to attack me again, she would burn the entire village to the ground. The air was charged with the promise of destruction.


    She turned her eyes back to the chief, her eyes burning with fury. "Try to hurt Lia," she said again, her voice a low growl. "And I''ll make sure it''s the last thing you ever do."


    The villagers watched in shock as the once hopeful, pleading Lyla transformed into someone they didn''t recognize. The air was thick with tension, and the line between protector and destroyer blurred in the intensity of Lyla''s presence. She was no longer begging them to stop. She was warning them. Threatening them.


    Lyla''s aura shifted from the pure, emotional energy of someone desperate to protect her sister, to something darker—more lethal. The villagers could feel it. They saw her for what she truly was—a force not to be underestimated.


    The chief, his face pale with fear, stepped forward, his voice trembling as he tried to regain control. "Enough," he commanded, his tone sharp but faltering. "You will not destroy this village over one mistake." His eyes darted nervously to the others, who backed away, some even retreating into the shadows.


    Lyla’s gaze remained unwavering, the fire in her eyes only intensifying as the chief spoke. She didn’t flinch, didn’t show any sign of hesitation. Her voice, when it came, was as cold as ice, cutting through the tension in the air.


    “Defend yourselves?” she said, her lips barely moving, but the words hung in the air with lethal intent. “You think you have the power to stop me? You couldn’t even touch me if you tried.”


    Her eyes shifted, the grid-like pattern deepening, as if honing in on the chief with a dangerous precision. The temperature in the air dropped further, a chill creeping along the villagers’ spines as they realized the full extent of her power. She took a slow step forward, her presence overwhelming.


    “Stay far away from me, and my sister, if you value your lives. I’m not interested in your threats,” Lyla continued, her voice devoid of any emotion. “You’ve seen what I can do. Remember it.”


    From that moment on, there was no turning back.


    Since that day, my life was over.


    That night, when my father came for me, his hand raised to strike, Lyla was there. She fought him, blocking his every move, her arms shaking with the effort. "Stop! Please, stop!" she shouted, her voice desperate. She grabbed his wrist, trying to force him to see reason, but his eyes were filled with hatred.


    "Lyla, please!" I cried, my heart breaking. "Don''t! You''ll get hurt."


    But she wouldn''t let go, standing between me and my father like a shield. "You''re wrong!" she screamed at him, her voice raw with desperation. "She''s not the monster you think she is! She''s my sister! She''s just sick! Don''t do this!"


    My father''s face twisted in anger, and he took a step forward, his voice low but filled with fury. "Lyla, stop! You''re blinded by your emotions. Can''t you see? This—this thing is not your sister anymore." He pointed at me, his finger trembling with disgust. "She''s possessed. She''s a vessel for the Queen of Curses. The curse is inside her, waiting to destroy everything."


    Lyla shook her head violently, tears streaming down her face. "No! No, that''s not true! She''s not a curse! She''s just—she''s just sick, Dad!"


    But my mother, who had been silent until now, stepped forward, her face a mask of disgust, her eyes hard with something darker than anger. "You don''t understand, Lyla," she said, her voice sharp and venomous. "Your sister is gone. She''s not the little girl I gave birth to. She''s a curse—a monster—and we have to get rid of her. I wish I could erase her from existence right now."


    Lyla took a step back, her eyes widening in disbelief. "No, Mom, please, that''s not her! It''s the disease, it''s not her fault—"


    "Stop protecting her!" My mother''s voice cracked, filled with fury and revulsion.


    "She''s dangerous, Lyla! You think I don''t see it? She isn''t herself anymore, I know she has been taken over by now. We can''t afford to keep her alive—she''s poison to all of us. If you truly loved this village, you would let her go. She needs to die. For all of us. For the future of this place."


    Her words sliced through me like a blade, and the tears that had been on the edge of my eyes froze. My mother''s voice had never held such venom before—it felt like she was speaking not just to Lyla, but to me as well, tearing apart any remnants of love or care she had once held.


    Lyla''s body trembled with anger; her face twisted in disgust as she turned to face them both.


    "You''re all disgusting," she spat, her voice colder than ice. "You all loved her once, when she looked normal, didn''t you? You all fawned over her. But now that she''s different, now that she''s not what you want her to be, you turn your backs on her. You''re nothing but degenerates—trash people. I can''t believe I ever called this place home."


    Her voice wavered then, the walls of her anger cracking as the pain and heartbreak spilled out. "How can you say that about your own daughter?" she choked out, her voice breaking. "How can you just throw her away like this? She''s still my sister. She''s still the same person, and I''m not going to let you do this to her. I won''t."


    My mother''s expression softened for just a moment, but she said nothing. Her eyes moved to my father, who gave a curt nod, his face unreadable.


    Lyla''s hands shook, fists clenched, but she didn''t back down. She turned to me, her voice softening. "Please, don''t listen to them. You''re not what they say." She moved to stand in front of me again, her arms wide, blocking any further attacks from my father.


    She gently placed her hands around my shoulders, pulling me close as she leaned down, her forehead resting against mine. "You''re not a curse, Lia," she whispered, her breath warm against my skin. "You''re my sister. And nothing will change that. You''re you, no matter what they say."


    My father didn''t try to reach for me again. Instead, he let out a bitter laugh. "Then you''ll be just as lost as she is, Lyla."


    That night, Lyla kept me close, her arms wrapped tightly around me as she whispered comforting words in my ear. "We''ll get through this, I promise. I''ll always be by your side. No matter what they say."


    Tears filled my eyes, but I didn''t want to cry. I wanted to be strong for her, even though everything felt like it was falling apart. She gently wiped away my tears, a small, sad smile tugging at her lips. "Don''t worry, okay? We''ll leave this place. We''ll go somewhere where they can''t hurt you."


    Lyla took my hand and led me out into the dark night. The village was silent behind us, the distant sound of the villagers'' voices fading away as we left. She didn''t say much more, but the weight of her promise filled the air around us.


    "Everything will be okay," she said softly, her voice full of conviction, even though I could see the fear in her eyes. "I''ll keep you safe, lia. Always."


    We walked into the night, the world ahead of us uncertain and dark, but Lyla''s hand in mine made everything feel a little less cold.