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# Cursed Heart

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The night spread itself across Ebonvale like a velvet shroud. Clouds clung to the stars, and the moon, half-veiled, cast a pale, ghostly glow over the trees. The forest was alive with the rustle of unseen creatures, the groan of branches bending in the cold wind, and the occasional flutter of wings from birds that should have been asleep.

Ash Crowhurst pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. The lantern in his hand threw out only the faintest circle of light, swallowed by the pressing dark. He wasn’t supposed to be here—his mother had warned him, as she always did—but something in his blood pulled him into the woods tonight, a tug that refused to be ignored.

Legends whispered that Ebonvale was cursed. That centuries ago, a betrayal had stained its soil and bound wandering souls to its roots. To walk too deep was to tempt fate itself. Ash didn’t believe in legends, not really. But he believed in the silence that hung like a blade, and in the way his heartbeat thundered when the shadows seemed to close in.

He wasn’t afraid of the forest.

He was afraid of what he might find.

A flicker caught his eye. At first, he thought it was a trick of the lantern. Then he saw her.

She stood where the fog was thickest, as if she had stepped out of it and belonged to it all at once. A girl, no older than him, with hair black as ink cascading down her shoulders. Her dress shimmered faintly, like the mist itself had woven it. But it was her eyes that held him captive—violet, luminous, sorrowful, as though they had seen centuries of night.

Ash’s breath caught.

She didn’t move, not at first. Just watched him, silent as a statue. The forest around her grew hushed, as if waiting for something—waiting for him.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said at last. Her voice was soft, lilting, but carried an undertone that made his skin prickle.

He swallowed hard. “Neither should you.”

A fleeting smile curved her lips, delicate but haunting. “You have a choice. I don’t.”

Ash frowned, stepping closer despite the weight in his chest urging him back. “What do you mean?”

The wind stirred suddenly, sweeping through the trees with a howl. His lantern guttered. Shadows swayed like restless spirits, and the girl’s hair whipped around her pale face. She didn’t flinch. She looked at him as though the storm was nothing compared to the storm inside her.

“Go home, Ash Crowhurst,” she whispered, and his name on her tongue felt like both a warning and a plea.

“How do you know my—” He stopped short.

But she was gone.

Vanished, as though she had never been there, leaving behind only the mist and the echo of her voice.

Ash stood rooted to the ground, heart pounding, his skin cold. The forest pressed in tighter than before, its silence suffocating. He turned in circles, searching, but there was nothing—no footprints, no sign of her. Just emptiness.

And yet he felt her. Deep in his chest. A strange pull, a heaviness. It was as if she had reached into him and left something behind.

By the time he stumbled out of Ebonvale, the moon had fully broken free of the clouds, bathing the world in silver. Ash’s lantern had long gone out, but he hardly noticed. He walked with her image burned into his mind: her eyes, her voice, her sorrow.

He knew, without understanding why, that his life had just changed forever.

And that the curse of Ebonvale was no longer just a story.

It was in him now.

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# Cursed Heart

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The Crowhurst manor sat at the edge of the valley, its dark stone walls rising like a sentinel against the wilds of Ebonvale. Generations of Ash’s family had lived and died here, and the house carried their history in every creaking floorboard and draft that whispered down its halls.

Ash returned just before dawn. The sky had begun to pale, streaks of violet and rose cutting through the night, but his mind was still tangled in the shadows of the forest. He slipped through the great oak doors as quietly as he could, hoping no one had noticed his absence.

But Nyra was waiting.

His younger sister sat curled in the high-backed chair by the fire, her golden-brown hair spilling over her shoulder, a book lying forgotten in her lap. She had the sharp eyes of their mother, eyes that missed nothing, and when she looked at Ash now, he felt as though she could read the truth straight from his soul.

“You went into the forest again.” Her voice was soft, but edged with accusation.

Ash tried to steady his breath. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Nyra raised an eyebrow. “So you decided to wander Ebonvale in the middle of the night? Mother will—”

“Don’t tell her,” Ash interrupted sharply. His voice came out more desperate than intended. He ran a hand through his dark hair, the memory of violet eyes still burning in his mind. “Please, Nyra.”

Her gaze softened, though curiosity flickered beneath. “What did you see?”

He hesitated. To say it aloud felt dangerous, as though speaking her into words would bind her closer to him. And yet he couldn’t keep her to himself, not entirely. “A girl,” he admitted.

Nyra leaned forward. “A girl? In Ebonvale?”

“Yes. She knew my name.”

Silence fell between them, broken only by the crackle of the fire. Nyra’s lips parted, but no words came. Finally, she whispered, “Then it’s true.”

Ash’s brow furrowed. “What’s true?”

Before she could answer, footsteps echoed down the corridor. Both turned as Thalia Crowhurst entered, their mother a vision of stern grace. Her long black gown trailed against the stone floor, and her eyes—piercing gray, sharp as ice—fell instantly on Ash.

“You’ve been in the forest,” she said, not asking, but knowing.

Ash straightened, though the weight of her gaze was heavy. “I—”

“Do not lie to me.” Her voice cut through the room. She moved closer, her presence filling the space. “Ebonvale is not for wandering. It is not for you.”

Something in her words stirred unease in him. *Not for you.* Did she mean not for anyone—or not for him specifically?

“Mother,” Nyra ventured softly, “he saw—”

But Thalia silenced her with a look. Nyra fell quiet, lips pressed into a thin line.

Ash clenched his fists. “Why? Why can’t we go there? What are you hiding?”

For the briefest moment, his mother’s mask cracked. He saw it in her eyes—the flicker of fear, of grief. Then it was gone, shuttered away.

“Some curses,” she said coldly, “are better left undisturbed.”

She turned sharply, the folds of her gown sweeping after her, and left without another word.

Ash stood frozen, the fire’s warmth unable to reach the chill that settled into him. Nyra looked at him with wide, searching eyes, but he couldn’t meet them. His heart pounded with a single truth:

The girl in the forest wasn’t just a chance encounter.

His family knew something.

And the curse of Ebonvale was no longer just legend.

It was waiting for him.

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# Cursed Heart

Ash tried to sleep, but dreams chased him down like hunters through the dark. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her: pale as moonlight, violet eyes full of sorrow, lips shaping his name as though she had always known him. When he woke, his chest was heavy, his pulse racing, and the feeling lingered—an ache he could not shake, like a mark carved into his soul.

Morning crept slowly across Crowhurst manor. The rain had begun, tapping against the high glass windows like impatient fingers. Ash rose from his bed and crossed to the window, his gaze falling toward the forest. Ebonvale stretched beyond the mist, endless and dark, calling him in a way nothing else ever had.

He should have been afraid. Instead, he felt restless. Drawn.

Nyra found him at breakfast, though he barely touched the food on his plate. She studied him carefully, as though trying to read his thoughts. “You’re thinking about her,” she said at last, quiet enough that their mother wouldn’t hear from the adjoining hall.

Ash didn’t deny it. “She knew my name.”

Nyra leaned closer, her eyes flickering with unease. “Ash… do you remember the stories Mother told us when we were little? About the cursed maiden of Ebonvale?”

He frowned. “Fairy tales to keep children out of the woods.”

“Are you so sure?” she whispered.

Before Ash could press her further, their mother entered, as commanding as always, and the conversation died in Nyra’s throat. Thalia’s presence was enough to silence any questions. Her sharp gaze lingered on Ash a moment too long before she took her place at the head of the table.

The rest of the meal passed in heavy silence.

---

That night, Ash could not bear the weight of his unanswered questions any longer. Lantern in hand, cloak wrapped tight, he slipped out once more, ignoring the echo of his mother’s warnings in his mind. The forest greeted him like an old adversary, its shadows closing in, its mist curling along the path.

The deeper he went, the more the silence thickened, until the world itself seemed to hold its breath.

And then—she was there.

Just as before, she stood in the clearing, framed by silver light, her presence both haunting and fragile. She did not startle when he stepped into view. Her eyes—those impossible violet eyes—met his, and for a moment, it felt as though time itself bent around them.

“You came back,” she said softly.

Ash swallowed. “You knew I would.”

A faint, sorrowful smile touched her lips. “Yes. I suppose I did.”

For a moment they simply looked at each other, the silence between them alive with unspoken things. Then Ash forced himself to take a step closer. “Who are you?”

Her gaze flickered downward. “No one you should know.”

“That’s not an answer.”

The mist stirred, curling around her as though trying to hide her. “Some names are curses,” she murmured.

Ash’s chest tightened. “Then curse me. I don’t care. Tell me.”

Her eyes lifted back to his, shining with a pain so raw it made him ache. “Rose,” she whispered at last. “My name is Rose.”

The name struck him like a blade, sharp and unforgettable. Rose. It suited her—fragile yet fierce, beautiful yet laced with thorns.

Ash stepped closer still, though the air between them seemed charged, dangerous. “Why are you here, Rose? What are you?”

Her expression shifted, sorrow deepening into something almost like fear. “Bound,” she said, the word trembling on her lips. “I cannot leave this forest. I cannot escape what was done to me.”

Ash’s mind spun. Bound? Cursed? Was this the very legend his mother had spoken of in whispers, the one Nyra remembered from childhood tales?

He reached out instinctively, as though to take her hand, but the moment his fingers brushed the mist near her, the air shivered. A jolt like lightning raced through him, searing his skin and flooding his chest with ice and fire all at once. He stumbled back, gasping.

Rose flinched as though she, too, had felt it. Her hands trembled as she clasped them tightly in front of her. “You shouldn’t touch me,” she said, voice breaking. “It will only hurt you.”

But Ash shook his head, heart hammering. “I don’t care.”

Rose’s eyes filled with something he couldn’t name—longing, sorrow, a fragile hope buried deep. For the briefest moment, it seemed as though she wanted to believe him, wanted to reach for him despite everything.

Then the forest stirred violently. The wind howled, the trees groaned, and shadows spilled across the ground like ink. Rose’s face paled further.

“They know you’re here,” she whispered.

Ash’s blood ran cold. “Who?”

But Rose was already retreating, the mist thickening around her, swallowing her form. “Go, Ash,” she pleaded. “Before it’s too late.”

“No!” He lunged forward, desperate to hold onto her, but she dissolved into the fog, her voice the last thing that lingered:

“Do not seek me again.”

And then she was gone.

The forest roared around him, furious and alive. Ash stumbled back, his lantern flickering wildly. He could feel the presence of something vast, something unseen, pressing in on him like a weight. The air itself felt hostile, warning him away.

But it was too late.

Rose’s name burned in his heart, and no curse, no shadow, no warning could pull it free.

---

By the time Ash returned to the manor, dawn was breaking again. His cloak was damp, his lantern extinguished, but his mind was ablaze. Rose. A girl bound to the forest. A curse older than his family’s silence.

Nyra found him pacing the hall outside the library. She stopped short at the sight of him—wild-eyed, breathless. “Ash—what happened?”

He turned to her, voice low but fierce. “She has a name. Rose.”

Nyra paled, her lips parting in shock. “Then it’s true. The legend… it’s real.”

Ash grabbed her hand, desperate. “What legend? Tell me everything.”

Nyra hesitated, glancing toward the shadowed end of the hall where their mother might appear at any moment. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Long ago, a girl was cursed in Ebonvale. A girl whose heart was bound to the forest, trapped between life and death. They said she waits for the one who can break the curse—but whoever tries is doomed to share her fate.”

Ash’s pulse thundered. “Doomed?”

Nyra nodded grimly. “Yes. To be bound forever.”

The words sank into him like stone, heavy and inescapable. Bound forever.

And yet, as the rain streaked the windows and the forest loomed in the distance, Ash felt no fear. Only certainty.

He could not leave Rose to her sorrow.

Whatever the cost, he would find her again.

And the cursed heart of Ebonvale would bind them both.

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