Chapter 26: The Blooming Poison
Shapira's room door swung fully open, revealing a towering silhouette shrouded in darkness. The air around her instantly thinned, replaced by a bone-chilling cold, as if death itself had walked in. Shapira's eyes widened, reflecting a horrifying green glint from the eyes of the black-robed figure now standing tall in the doorway. That glint was no longer an illusion from a nightmare, but a pure reflection of tangible destruction.
"It's time for you to return to where you belong, my love," Lucian whispered, his voice echoing with an unsettling, cruel laughter. A wave of chaos surged through Shapira, paralyzing her muscles, gripping her vocal cords. "And this time, there will be no William to save you."
Lucian stepped forward, his shadow stretching, engulfing the dim morning light. Each step felt like a hammer blow to Shapira's heart. Her brain screamed to run, to fight, but her body froze, transfixed by terror that permeated every fiber of her being. She was a helpless prey, and Lucian an unmatched predator. His cold aura intensified, sending shivers down Shapira's spine. A silent laugh escaped Lucian's lips, more terrifying than any roar.
"You look fragile, Anya," he said, his tone soft but laced with menace. "Just like last time. But you won't be able to hide behind Shapira's body forever."
Shapira's head throbbed violently, as if a mallet had struck her skull. The room's walls spun, the paintings on them dancing in her vision. William, the palace, Nymira, everything felt like a distant, unreal dream. Only Lucian, with his green eyes like shattered glass, felt real.
"What do you want from me?" Shapira managed to croak out, her voice hoarse and filled with fear.
"You," Lucian replied simply, extending a long hand, his fingers like claws ready to grasp. "I want you, and the throne that should be mine. William took everything from me. Isolde's love, the throne of Astellia, even you. But no more. Fate has granted me a second chance. A chance to correct past mistakes."
As Lucian's fingers drew near, Shapira's world crumbled. Her vision shattered into a thousand shards of glass. She was no longer in the palace room. Now she stood in a grand, dark hall, filled with dancing shadows. In the center of the hall, Princess Anya was bound to a stone pillar, her white gown stained with blood. Her eyes were vacant, her lips moving silently, pleading for help.
"No!" Shapira screamed, her voice echoing in the empty hall. She tried to run toward Anya, but her feet felt as if they were nailed to the floor. "Release her!"
From the shadows, Isolde's figure emerged, laughing sinisterly. The dagger with a coiled snake carving in her hand glinted coldly. "You cannot save her, Anya," Isolde said, her eyes burning with the exact same cruelty as Isabelle's. "No one can. Look, your William is too busy with his foolish war. He won't come. He's always too late."
Isolde approached Anya, her dagger raised high. A choked scream tore from Shapira. She felt the cold blade pierce Anya's skin, saw dark red blood gush forth, staining her white gown crimson-black. The piercing scent of metal and death was so real that her stomach violently churned. She fell to her knees, covering her ears, trying to banish the horrific image.
"Enough!" Shapira screamed, tears streaming down her face. "Stop! This isn't me!"
Lucian's laughter boomed from the darkness, permeating every corner of her mind. "You are her, Anya. And you will never escape this destiny. Now, come back to me. I will protect you from this cruel world that abandoned you."
A cold, strong hand seized her arm. Shapira felt a powerful tug, as if she were being pulled into a bottomless abyss. The vision shattered, and she returned to the palace room, but darkness had swallowed everything. She felt her body sway, then collapse. Her consciousness faded, but before it fully darkened, she heard Lucian's final whisper, as close as a breath. "You won't be able to resist it, Anya. You are mine."
*
When Shapira awoke, the strong scent of herbal incense stung her nostrils. Her head felt incredibly light, as if her brain were floating inside her skull. Faint voices filled her ears, forming an indistinct murmur. She tried to open her eyes, and her gaze was met by the intricately carved ceiling of a room that now felt strange, yet familiar.
"Shapira? You're awake?" William's voice, sounding immensely relieved, made Shapira turn her head.
William sat by her bedside, his face etched with worry. The King of Astellia, in his regal robes, stood by the window, his expression grim. Beside William, an old man in white robes, with a long beard and sharp eyes, was holding Shapira's wrist, checking her pulse.
"How is she, Healer Eldrin?" the King asked, his voice heavy.
Healer Eldrin shook his head slowly. "Her fever has dropped, Your Majesty. However, her mind is still in turmoil. A powerful dark force is at work on her. It's not a physical illness, but something that has permeated her soul, draining her energy, and corrupting her memories. This spell is very ancient and cruel, almost resembling the long-lost curse of the Dark Chord Keepers."
William tightened his grip on Shapira's hand. "Will she be alright?"
"Physically, yes. But her soul ... she will continue to experience mental turmoil if the source isn't stopped. There's a locked memory within her, and that dark force is trying to manipulate it, turning it into a weapon against herself," Healer Eldrin explained, looking at Shapira with a sympathetic gaze. "She must be protected. Her mind must be cleansed of that dark influence."
Shapira tried to speak, but her throat was dry. "Lucian ... he was here. In my room."
William's and King Astellia's faces tensed. "He is indeed at the border, Shapira," William nodded. "But he also has the ability to project his form, or possess someone, even in the form of dark energy. I came after the guards reported a disturbance in your room, but he had already vanished. You were unconscious when I arrived."
"William has told me everything, Shapira," King Astellia stepped closer, his gaze implying the weight of history. "About Princess Isolde, and how you saw her betray Anya. This is a truth buried for years."
"Princess Isolde is Isabelle?" Shapira whispered, her voice still weak.
The King nodded slowly. "Isolde was Anya's good friend, also William's cousin. I never suspected she could be so cruel. She disappeared after the tragedy. We thought she was dead. It turns out she is the current reincarnation of Isabelle."
"So, that necklace ... it was really from Isabelle?" Shapira asked.
William held up a black velvet pouch he was holding. "I've handed it over to the Keepers. They confirmed that the necklace was enchanted with high-level dark magic. It was used to tear a rift between the dream world and the real world, allowing Lucian to manipulate your mind and drain your strength."
Shapira stared at the necklace in William's hand, her heart filled with horror. "He wants me to believe that I cannot escape Anya's fate."
"Lucian will use every foul means to achieve his goals," King Astellia sighed. "He will exploit your weaknesses, your doubts. But you are not the Anya of old, Shapira. You have your own strength. We will protect you. William, ensure the palace guard is tripled. No one is to enter or leave without my permission."
William nodded firmly. "I've already done so, Your Majesty. And I've also ordered a secret investigation into Isabelle's every move." His eyes met Shapira's with unwavering intensity. "I will not let him touch you again, Shapira. I swear it."
*
A few hours later, after Healer Eldrin administered a calming potion and the palace settled down, Shapira felt a little better, though still weak. She tried to rise from her bed, feeling stifled in the room.
There was a soft knock on her door. "Shapira? May I come in?" Isabelle's gentle voice drifted from outside.
Shapira hesitated for a moment, the memory of Isolde's vision and the dagger still fresh in her mind. She could no longer deceive herself. She knew who Isabelle was. But she was also too weak to fight. "Come in," she replied, her voice taut.
Isabelle entered, carrying a tray with warm soup and herbal tea. Her usual sweet smile was on her face, but this time Shapira could see something cold behind it, a perfect mask.
"I heard you weren't feeling well, dear. I was so worried," Isabelle said, approaching the bed with graceful steps. "You're so pale. You must be exhausted after the ball last night." She placed the tray on the bedside table. "I brought you some warm soup. It will help you recover."
Shapira looked at the bowl of soup, then shifted her gaze to Isabelle's face. "You're very kind, Isabelle."
Isabelle smiled, her smile not reaching her eyes. "Of course. We're friends. I just want to see you healthy and happy. I heard William was very worried. He truly cares for you." She sat on the edge of the bed, taking Shapira's hand. Her fingers felt cold, like stone. "But I also heard you had a terrible nightmare. About Lucian ... and Princess Anya."
Shapira slowly pulled her hand away. "My dream was very clear. Too clear."
Isabelle sighed, her expression turning sorrowful. "Poor Anya. Her story is so tragic. I know you don't like to talk about it, but I often think of her too. A princess so loved, yet betrayed by fate." She looked at Shapira with eyes gleaming with feigned sympathy. "I just hope you don't end up like her, Shapira. Trapped in the shadows of a dark past."
A cold shiver ran through Shapira. Isabelle was trying to plant fear deeper. "What do you mean?"
"You know, sometimes fate is so strong, isn't it?" Isabelle continued, looking out the window. "Even if we try to escape, it will always find a way to pull us back. Princess Anya couldn't escape. And I'm just afraid ... you can't either." She turned back to Shapira, her smile a little wider. "Especially since William, with all his bravery, couldn't save Anya from her cruel fate. He was always too busy with war and his ambitions. He will never be able to protect you from the true destiny awaiting you."
Isabelle's words lodged deep in Shapira's mind, piercing the core of her deepest fears. The fear of abandonment, the fear of loss. She knew this was poison, but she was too weak to resist it. A tremor ran through her body, not from cold, but from piercing horror.
Suddenly, a voice echoed in Shapira's mind, clear and strong, yet audible only to her. The voice was a song. Princess Anya's Soul Song.
"Do not let darkness deceive your heart. Their love is a burning fire, but their lies are a freezing poison. Find the hidden truth, before the curtain of history repeats. Trust your heart, Shapira. Do not let the past become a shackle that imprisons you."
The song flashed away as quickly as it came, leaving Shapira gasping. She looked at Isabelle, who was still smiling sweetly, as if she had heard nothing. Shapira's heart pounded. It was a warning. A clear warning.
"I must go now," Isabelle said, rising from her seat. "There's a meeting with the King. I hope you recover quickly, Shapira." She gently patted Shapira's shoulder, her smile never fading, then turned and left the room.
Shapira was alone again, but now she didn't feel alone. The song, Anya's warning, filled her head. "Their love is a burning fire, but their lies are a freezing poison." Who are "they"? William and Lucian? Or Isabelle and Lucian? And what hidden truth?
She reached for the soup Isabelle had brought. The aroma of the soup looked tempting, but Anya's voice echoed again, "freezing poison." With trembling hands, Shapira brought the bowl to her nose. The pleasant herbal scent mixed with something else, something faint, yet menacing. As if an invisible wisp of thin mist emanated from its surface. She knew she shouldn't touch the soup. Isabelle, the Isolde, had tried to poison her. Not with a dagger this time, but in a more subtle, more dangerous way. A poison that blooms in false kindness.
Shapira placed the bowl back on the table, moving away from it. She touched her chest, feeling a pulse of energy beginning to return, spurred by Anya's song. She had to be strong. She could no longer be the fragile Anya. She had to find the hidden truth, as Anya warned. But how? And whom could she trust? Everything felt like a labyrinth of darkness, and she was the only one left to find the way out.
Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, Shapira saw a shadow move outside the window. A familiar silhouette, tall and slender, with beautiful curly blonde hair. Isabelle. She hadn't gone to the King's meeting. She stood in the rose garden, staring towards Shapira's room with a blank gaze, her eyes faintly gleaming green like Lucian's. No longer a sweet smile adorned her face, but a horrifying, triumphant sneer. The shadows in her eyes were so dark, so malevolent, as if Isolde's true soul had fully taken over.
Shapira stepped back, her breath caught. Isabelle was not just a traitor. She was Lucian's puppet. And the blooming poison had revealed its true form. She knew one thing, the war was not just happening at the border. The war was also happening inside the palace, within her own mind.