Page 92 of Cursed Dreams
Desperate she tried to tell him, to explain but she couldn’t speak. She couldn’t tell him about Caelum. About the bond. About Kek. She didn’t know why… but she couldn’t. Maybe she was afraid he’d hate her for it. Or maybe she was afraid he wouldn’t, and that she’d be left even more confused.
Vaelith stepped back into the dark, half-swallowed by shadow again.
“Whatever it is you’re chasing,” he said softly, “I hope it doesn’t destroy you.”
He turned, this time not waiting for her to answer. She watched him go until the night swallowed him whole. Only when he was gone did, she let her hand drift to her necklace, where the soul bond pulsed softly against her skin like a heartbeat beneath her own "I'm sorry “she whispered.
Chapter 20
Thalia stared blankly at the shelves before her, rows upon rows of ancient tomes and velum scrolls. Spines marked with unfamiliar markings of long, forgotten runes. The library’s upper level was bathed in the golden light of the morning, quiet, with only the soft rustling of parchment and the faint scratch of quills. She knew she should be revising her notes for tomorrow’s potion theory assessment or at the very least preparing for her upcoming diagnostic rotation in the hospital wing. She was uncharacteristically distracted. Her eyes continuously drifting to a worn leather volume she had hidden amongst her other texts. The guilt sat heavily on her conscience. Three nights previous in what could only be described as a moment of madness she had sneaked into the restrictive archives after dark and took it. It was a nearly illegible, water-stained collection of fragmented histories, legends and gods, scraps of lore too fragile or inconsistent to be held in the main temple records. She had hoped to find some mention of Kek or the temple of knowledge in the index, but there had been nothing, she was now left with the tedious task of trawling through footnotes. Thalia sighed, frustration bubbling at her lack of progress.
“Okay,” she murmured to herself, “start again.”
She flipped open the ancient text and began the tedious task of sifting through the pages, eyes scanning for symbols, etchings, dates, anything that could help her.
She was halfway through a passage about an old fae territory of water affiliates when a voice whispered beside her.
“You’re spiralling.”
She looked up sharply to see Nyla, arms crossed, watching her with concern. Her dark hair was pulled into a loose braid, and there were dark circles under her eyes.
“I’m not,” Thalia lied.
“You’ve been withdrawn for weeks. You think we haven’t noticed?” Nyla pulled out a chair and sat beside her, eyes drifting to the text. “This doesn’t look like prep for potions class.”
Thalia reached for the book, sliding it closed with deliberate calm. “It’s just… personal research.”
“On legends and folk lore?”
“I’ve been… curious, I like the old stories.”
Nyla narrowed her eyes, “Alright. Curious. But you’re running yourself ragged, coming to bed late every night, heading to the library before class, you don’t even join us for meals anymore, what's going on? ”
“I’m fine”
“You’re not,” Nyla said gently. “You’re not yourself, your distracted! Last week during our rotation, you almost dosed the wrong infusion.”
Thalia’s cheeks burned. “It was a mistake.”
“You don’t make mistakes Thal.”
Thalia looked away, she didn’t want to lie to her friend anymore, but how could she tell her the truth? How could she explain that she has been dreaming of a male who just so happens to be a lost fae prince trapped since the dragon wars in some dream world prison cursed by the evil dragons so no living soul remembers him, that the same curse altered the very history they know, oh and just as a caveat she was soul bonded to him ? That her only hope of saving him was to find some long lost temple of a long lost god. Who would believe her?
“I’m just… working through somethings at the moment” It was a pathetic answer, but the best she could offer.
Nyla didn’t push further, but the look she gave her said she wasn’t going to let this go.
“Everything okay?” Marand asked as she slid into the seat opposite Thalia, balancing a stack of texts on fae-human genetic anomalies. Her smile faltered slightly as she looked at them both, clearly aware of the tension.
“Just worrying about our girl here,” Nyla said matter of factly.
Thalia groaned.
“I said I’m fine.”
Marand didn’t argue, she reached across the table and squeezed Thalia’s hand, the simple gesture of support saying more than words.
A moment later, Cellen arrived, flopping into the chair beside Marand “ What’s with the long faces? What are we frettingabout now? Is it me? It’s me, isn’t it? I’m too beautiful and it’s ruining morale.”
