19 Mysterious Origins

'I cannot trust him.'

Alyssane absentmindedly braided a strand of her hair, as the rare heat of the sun seeped through the windows. She was unsure what to believe in. 

Everything that had happened in the last week swirled in her mind like an unceasing storm, making her feel more distant from the world she knew―shackling her thoughts until she was left more lost than ever. 

And in the center of it all was the confusing knight who held her captive.

The first time he found her, she shivered under the shadow of his furious gaze, and yet, when she felt shattering, alone, and hopeless, he was there―in an unsettling confusing way, but he was there.

But he was also hiding something, several things perhaps.

Markle's desperate cries had shuddered her soul, they still did, and Alyssane knew those sounds could not have come out from old injuries. 

The more she thought about it, the harder it became to trust Kazmun. Was he even saying the truth about anything?

'As long as you are useful.' 

But what was there she could even offer him?

Alyssane quietly exhaled, her brows creased together as she stared at the faint healing wounds on her hands. Suddenly, she was questioning everything about Kamun.

Her voice was barely above a whisper, "Who are you… really?"

'Why exactly are you here?'

She had little faith in his true motives but the line between her dreams of being free and the wretched fate that awaited was also growing thin. If she was not careful, every step might lead to her fall.

And so after that strange conversation with Kazmun, Alyssane religiously read texts assigned to her. She was not sure what else she could do for him.

The texts varied in topics, some were scholarly books, some were memoirs, some were journals, and even newspaper clippings.

Each equally exhausting to read―the subjects ranging from politics to medical sciences, from history to culture, and so on. The pattern remained the same.

Mass tragedies with mysterious origins and mysterious ends.

'Is he trying to understand the Nightmare Curse?'

On her fourth eve, Alyssane discovered two strange things. The first one was a scroll written in an ancient language she could not decipher.

But there were a few peculiar illustrations in it.

It started with a detailed image of a beautiful princess, and perhaps the rest of the scroll detailed her life.

The second illustration was an anatomical view of her brain and its deterioration over three fortnights. First, there were faint traces of a rot, and she was dazedly looking at the blood on her fingers after having touched her nose.

Then, she fainted as the ailment progressed and there was even more bleeding. 

At last, the blood stopped. She does not wake up, but her sleeping face is shadowed with grief and pain. The gilded royal room has changed to become a dark cage of ghouls and demons.

The illustrations had the princess wasting away while trapped in her nightmare. Her body shrinks from starvation. No one is ever there for her.

A huge part of the scroll after that could not be interpreted because the ink was washed away. But the final illustration showed the princess standing in the middle of her kingdom's ruins.

Somehow, she had survived. 

"Was there a cure?" Alyssane wondered out loud, and her confusion grew further because everyone believed that the tragedy a decade ago was the first recorded instance of a nightmare curse.

She placed the scroll aside. Kazmun might want to know about it, and maybe some other records of that time can shed light upon the curse.

The second strange thing was an old journal, maintained roughly a decade ago in meticulous handwriting. 

I wish I would have died that night.

The world has lost all its colors now, replaced by the chilling crimson staining everything and everyone. The ghosts of all who perished that night of madness wonder this cursed castle.

If only I had not left my room, would things be different? If we never met, would she still be alive?

Standing in the midst of the bloodshed, he was a demon in white robes, his face hidden behind a wooden mask, and as everyone was driven to the edge of insanity―taking their own lives, or those of others―he silently stared at me.

A chilling shift engulfed my soul the moment our eyes met.

Before I could react, Mother stepped in, as if she too sensed the danger and she collapsed. Her eyes were vacant and lost, sudden tears streamed down her eyes and she kept whispering 'I can't, I can't…'

She could not hear me as I begged her to come with me. We had to leave, but she only asked me to run, holding my hand firmly as her own hands trembled. Her words were too desperate, and somewhere, I stopped listening.

I knew what was coming.

Alyssane leaned over the desk, closing her eyes, as a searing heat radiated from deep within her bones, engulfing her in a feverish haze that made every fiber of her body ache.

She could no longer read the diary.

But her wretched mind lingered over the last few lines, seeing the mother try to resist whatever was coming. She forced a smile, assuring her son it would be all right, he should just run to a safer place, and she would be with him soon, but her breaths were not right.

She was trembling beyond any reason, and soon the mask of her smile faltered as she broke down into sobs and tears. She used the knife concealed in her dress and plunged it inside her until the light completely vanished from her eyes.

Her last words were a whispered apology, asking for forgiveness because the son had to see all that.

The room seemed to blur around as Alyssane found herself unable to let go of those last lines even as the weight of the fever pulled her deeper into a state of drowsiness, and through the thoughts of the diary, her mind dipped into a forgotten memory.

'Forgive me, dear Alys… you have to see mother like this.'

Her mother had said similar words, and that moment had changed everything.

Unable to bear the drowsiness any longer, Alyssane fell into an uneasy sleep. The world dissolved into darkness.