Page 87 of Cursed Dreams
He exhaled slowly. “You stop feeling hope the way you used to. It dulls. Like the edges of a blade left in the rain.” His voice grew quieter. “But then you appeared. And I remembered what it felt like… to want again.”
Thalia’s throat tightened, her eyes burning.
“I want to know everything about you,” he said suddenly, gently. “Where you’re from, what you love. What your sky looks like when the stars come out.”
She smiled through the ache in her chest. “Small village. Endless green fields. My mother has a garden she talks to like it’s a sentient being. My father tells the same five stories every time he drinks sweet wine. My sky? It’s big. The kind of big that makes you feel small and safe all at once.”
He closed his eyes briefly, like he was painting the image in his mind. “It sounds like a place I would’ve liked.”
“You would’ve,” she said quietly. “You would’ve fit in. Maybe too well. My mother would’ve tried to marry me off to you the second she saw you .”
Heat rushed up her cheeks, why did she just say that .
He laughed, a warm, genuine sound and leaned closer, resting one arm on the wall beside her. “Would you have let her?”
Thalia blinked. “What?”
“If your mother tried to marry us off,” he said with a mischievous glint, “would you have gone along with it? Or run for the hills?”
She looked at him, heat rising to her cheeks. “I don’t know. I think I might’ve let her.”
The air between them thickened, turning electric. His smile faded, replaced by something more serious.
“I wish I could take you home,” he said quietly. “Show you, my world. The real one. Before everything fell apart.”
She watched his face closely. “Do you miss it?”
“With every breath I take.”
He stepped back slightly and lifted a hand toward the sky. “There was a forest near the edge of our realm. The trees glowed at night. Their leaves caught starlight and reflected it like glass. It was sacred. We used to go there before battles. Just to remember what we were fighting for.”
She could almost see it. The way he spoke, the distant look in his eyes, it was like touching a memory that didn’t belong to her but felt painfully familiar.
“I’d like to see it someday,” she said softly.
He met her gaze again. “I want you to.”
The breeze picked up around them, rustling the vines overhead. Lanternlight flickered across his features, making him look almost unreal.
“I don’t understand this,” Thalia admitted. “You. Me. Why I feel like I’ve known you forever.”
He stepped closer again, just enough that she could feel the heat of him. His hand brushed against hers, hesitant, testing.
“Maybe some part of you has,” he murmured. “Or maybe… some things don’t need to be understood to be true.”
She didn’t know what to say. But she didn’t pull her hand away.
They stood like that for a long time. Silent. Close. The world shrinking around them Caelum’s hand lifted, featherlight, brushing a lock of hair behind Thalia’s ear. His fingertips lingered just a moment longer than they needed to, and his gaze dropped to her lips. Her hands shook gently. Slowly, so slowly that she could’ve stepped back if she wanted to, he leaned in. Her heart slammed in her chest. The air thickened around her. For a terrifying moment, all she could think of was light. Blinding, hot light exploding like a starburst between her and Vaelith. The way her body had sparked with magic, the way he’d been thrown across the room like a ragdoll. She flinched. It wasn’t big. Barely a step. But it was enough. Caelum froze.
His face shifted immediately, surprise, confusion, then the soft crumpling of hurt beneath his steady exterior. He pulled back, giving her space.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I thought…”
“No..it’s not—” she rushed, shaking her head, hands half-lifted in panic. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I just, gods, this is stupid.”
His expression gentled, though there was a flicker of sadness in his gaze. “Is it because of your… complicated situation?”
“What?” Her heart skipped. “No! I mean—yes. No. Sort of. Not really. It’s not about him, ” She groaned, covering her face with both hands. “Oh gods, I sound like a lunatic.”
