A Memory That Wasn’t a Dream

The white lily wilted in its crystal vase by morning.

I hadn't moved it. I couldn't bring myself to touch it.

That single flower from Caelan — simple, sincere, and warm — had haunted me through the night more than my memories ever had.

I knew I should have burned it.

But instead, I watched it decay. Petal by petal.

The same way his love for me had once bloomed… and died.

---

Talia noticed the flower first.

"My lady?" she said, frowning. "This— is this from the palace?"

I nodded once. “It’s nothing.”

“You didn’t attend the ball, and yet… he sent you this?”

I closed the book in my lap and stood. “Don’t speak of it again.”

Talia stiffened but obeyed. She had always been more loyal than I deserved.

---

Later that day, I took a walk through the eastern garden of the Rosentia estate. The garden had been planted by my late mother — all lilacs and white roses, pale and fragrant in the sun. It was the only place in this life that felt untouched by lies.

I had just sat beneath the old arching willow when a presence stepped into the courtyard.

"You're hard to find when you're avoiding someone."

I turned sharply.

Prince Caelan stood a few paces behind me, arms crossed, expression unreadable. His golden hair caught the sunlight like a halo.

"Your Highness," I said, standing quickly and curtsying. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I sent you a flower. You didn’t reply.”

“I didn’t realize it required a reply,” I said evenly.

He approached slowly. “You didn’t come to the ball.”

“No,” I said. “I didn’t.”

"May I ask why?"

I hesitated. “It wasn’t appropriate.”

“That’s not like you,” he said gently. “You used to love those things. The dresses, the music—”

“That was a different girl,” I interrupted, colder than I intended.

His smile faltered.

“Then who are you now?” he asked, voice soft.

“I don’t know,” I whispered. “But I’m not someone who should be near you.”

> 💗 Love Meter: +18%

My breath caught. Again?

Every time he looked at me like that — like I was still his Evelyn — the curse grew stronger. It fed on moments like this. On the illusion of closeness.

“You said something strange the other day,” Caelan said suddenly. “When we met in the west wing. You looked at me like you saw a ghost.”

I looked away.

"Do you—" he hesitated, then added, “Do you remember something I don't?”

I forced a smile. “No, Your Highness. I’m just… tired.”

He didn’t believe me. I could see it in the way his jaw clenched.

He took a step closer.

“You know, Evelyn… I had a dream. Before the ball. A nightmare, really.”

I stiffened.

“In it, I saw you lying in a courtroom,” he said quietly. “Your hands were in chains. And I— I was standing beside the throne, watching.”

My blood froze.

He continued, eyes distant. “You looked at me like I’d done something terrible. And then someone said you were being executed.”

My breath stopped.

“That dream,” he added, “hasn’t left me since.”

---

I forced my body to remain still.

So he had seen it. Somehow. A fragment of our past. A splinter of memory clinging to the soul.

“You must’ve eaten something strange before sleeping,” I said lightly.

Caelan chuckled, but his eyes were sharp. “Maybe. Or maybe there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“I’m not,” I lied.

He took one more step — far too close now. I could see the flicker of something warm in his gaze. Dangerous.

“You always pushed people away,” he murmured. “But I think… I’m the only one you really let in.”

“No,” I whispered. “You must be mistaking me for someone else.”

He leaned closer. “Then why do you look like you’re about to cry?”

I turned from him sharply. “Because I’m cold. And this conversation is over.”

He didn’t stop me this time. I walked away, heart pounding, curse burning under my skin like ink.

Because now I knew the truth:

> The past wasn’t staying buried.

It was starting to bleed through the cracks.

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