Vivid | Lee Minho

•Scene 2•

It was in one of your earlier lives when you decided to speak of your curse for the first time.

You opened your eyes to unfamiliar surroundings and unfamiliar, excited faces hovering over yours. The world around you seemed so daunting in its size, so foreign. You could not speak. When you opened your mouth, all you heard was the sharp wailing of an infant.

That scene was one you had become familiar with.

It took years until you could properly communicate with your new family, and when you turned thirteen, you decided to tell the village's sage about your strange experiences. You had hoped she would find an explanation for them. Perhaps even cure you of them.

You had been too naïve.

You still remembered the way her eyes darkened, the way she yelled as she frantically kicked you out of her abode. Utterly frightened, you ran away, never to look back at the ancient woman.

It was the last time you had ever dared to speak of your curse.

That night was starless and lonely. You were sleeping soundly when a mob of superstitious villagers raided your home, intent on killing you. They slaughtered your family with their pitchforks and axes and set your house ablaze with their ravenous torches. You could not escape them and the towering ghost of death in their midst.

Their weapons had impaled your feeble body, and you learned that you could never die at the hands of the common folk.

"Demon!" they had screamed as your flesh melded together, healing and restoring itself. The pain was blinding, yet you were alive. Your heart beat as though it had not been punctured with steel. Skin smooth as though it had not been scorched by their flames.

It took only a few days until they arrived at your village. Dressed in red the shade of blood long dried, they had come to collect their powerless prey.

The memory was so old it ought to have been muddled and forgotten, but you recalled it with harrowing clarity. That life had introduced you to your enemies. That life had slammed into you the bitter reality of your existence.

You were alone. Wholly and completely.

You saw the consequences of trust time and time again, life after life again. There was no one that could help you, and no one that would.

Whatever curse was ailing you was your problem to shoulder alone, listlessly drifting through endless lifetimes.

It might have been a pitiful fate, but you no longer cared to lament it.

Your mind was brimming with thoughts as you prepared to leave Valorieve Palace for the day. It had been a while since you received one of the Crown Prince's sorry letters and it was not something to be glad for. You knew that it only meant that he was running out of patience.

If he was like his predecessors, then it was only a matter of time until he attempted something dangerous.

"Sycross," you called for your butler, who appeared at your side mere moments later, prim and proper as ever.

"Yes, my lady?"

You hated to ask things of him, but you had to prepare for what was a sure event to come.

"Please deliver the afternoon meal to the school two hours after my departure," you instructed carefully, to which he bowed. "I will see to it. Is there anything else I may help you with?"

You turned to face him, hoping your request did not sound too peculiar. "I need you to deliver it personally, Sycross. And please have a small retinue of guards accompany you, the streets tend to be dangerous at times."