Page 73 of Cursed Dreams
Where are you, Caelum?
Why won’t you come back to me?
By the time Thalia finally closed the last book and set it aside, her eyes burned, her neck ached, and her back protested every movement. The library had emptied out hours ago, only the dim golden sconces lit the soaring archways now, and even the hushed rustle of pages had gone still.
She rubbed her temples, standing slowly, her body stiff from hours spent poring over ancient ink and fading script. As she gathered her things, she cast one final glance at the old tome tucked beneath her arm—the one with his portrait.
Caelum.
She clutched the book a little tighter and stepped into the cool night air.
The corridor was silent, save for the soft crackling of braziers and the distant whisper of the evening breeze brushing across the temple’s stone eaves. Shadows danced across the flagstones as Thalia walked slowly through the winding passage, her steps echoing in the stillness.
She passed under the ivy-laced archway leading toward the central courtyard, ready to make her way back to the dormitories, when a faint sound caught her ear.
Chanting.
Low. Melodic. Familiar.
Her heart stilled.
It was coming from inside the Temple.
Drawn by something she didn’t fully understand, Thalia turned. Her feet moved of their own accord, each step lighter than the last as she crossed the open path and approached the glowing entrance.
The heavy doors stood ajar, soft light spilling out in golden waves, casting eerie shadows across the threshold. The scent of fresh jasmine and lavender oil met her nose first soothing and bittersweet, like the kiss of a memory.
Inside, the air was thick with incense smoke. The temple felt alive, like magic clung to the very stones, humming with quiet reverence.
Rows of hooded priestesses stood in perfect lines, their robes a deep shade of pale blue, the embroidered sigils of Amara stitched into the hems in shimmering thread. Their voices layered in perfect harmony, a haunting, rhythmic chant that echoed through the open chamber like waves lapping a shore.
The statue of the goddess stood tall at the front of the temple—arms outstretched, face serene, bathed in flickering candlelight. Offerings of flowers painted stones, and woven charms had been placed at her feet, their colours glowing beneath the soft flames.
Thalia moved like a shadow, quiet and unnoticed, sliding into one of the stone benches at the very back. She set the book beside her, folded her hands in her lap, and let the sound of the priestesses’ song wash over her.
The tension in her shoulders began to ease.
She closed her eyes.
Please, she whispered silently to the goddess of love and light, let me find him again. Let him come to me. Let me speak to him, even just for a moment.
The chanting rose and fell in time with her breath.
The scents, the sounds, the warmth of the temple, it all wrapped around her like a balm. Her body, exhausted, began to relax. The weight of unanswered questions, of sleepless nights, began to sink down into the stone beneath her.
Slowly, her thoughts drifted.
The harmony of the priestesses' voices stretched long and low, until it was more a hum within her than a sound she heard. Her limbs grew heavy. Her heartbeat slowed, and the darkness behind her eyelids deepened into something velvet and endless.
She was falling, there was only one person she hoped would be there to catch her.
As soon as the forest mist parted, Thalia saw him standing in the same clearing where their paths always met, where starlight filtered through the towering trees and the earth itself seemed to hum with breathless anticipation.
He stood motionless beneath the shimmering leaves, his silver-threaded cloak stirring only slightly in the breeze that didn’t quite reach her. His pale blue eyes found her instantly, soft and bright, like moonlight across still water. He opened his arms.
Without thinking, Thalia ran.
Her feet moved before her mind could catch up, leaves crunching softly underfoot as she rushed into his embrace.
