"What do you mean, 'Under royal authority'?" Mary had been summoned to the annex door by one of the LaVelle guards, who had been approached by two men in long, white robes, their silver hair falling neatly down their backs. Were they twins? What looked like an entire squadron of the Royal Guard was behind them. "We haven't received notice from his lordship about this."

She stood in the doorway, shuffling from foot to foot. As if she would be able to stop them!

"And you don't need to," the older of the two men replied, handing the scroll to the guard and barging his way into the annex. At least, he appeared older, judging by the slightly more rugged appearance.

"You," Mary shouted over her shoulder to the guard, "go to the main house for his lordship at once!" 

She ran after the two men, who walked with unnatural speed towards Lady Florence's chambers, the source of the screams and horrific yelling. Just before they yanked open the door, she threw herself in front of it.

"Please," she heaved. "Lady Florence can't receive any visitors at the moment. She isn't well!"

"We know," the same man said, narrowing his silver eyes at her, "and that's precisely why we've been sent. By the King. Now move aside." With a gentle whoosh, he gestured with his hand to the left and deposited Mary a few feet away, ignoring her startled shriek.

Truthfully, he wasnt looking forward to finding whatever was inside this chamber, but his King had ordered them to "fix Lady Florence by any means." Perhaps the King had an idea of what was wrong with her, as the sounds she made were almost demonic. Something he and his twin were quite familiar with.

Briefly, his eyes met his brother's in silent agreement, then they entered the chamber together, opening the door to be greeted by a sharp, shrill scream that seemed to pierce its way down to his very soul. It was worse than they had imagined. 

The dim room was grossly unfit for a lady—a smell more appropriate for a nursery filled the brothers' nostrils as they quickly took in the shabby furnishings and dirty linens. Then there was the lady herself.

Lady Florence was petite for her age, likely malnourished, and her clothing was soiled with food. Her shorn head was damp with sweat, spiking her fiery red hair. All four limbs were bound to the bed as she arched and thrashed, wrists and ankles an angry red where the bindings had chaffed, likely day in and day out. Probably scarred. 

She screamed again, ending in a chest-convusling sob—"Why-why-why-why-why-why-why WHHYYY!" Another scream began. She coughed and gasped for air, then coughed again. Her face turned purple.

"Ungh, you look so delicious, so, soooo delicious, ha ha hahahahahaaaaaa, but it's my face, my faaaaaaace, why did you do this to my face? My face? My FAAAAAACE?" Another scream. 

"Brother!" the younger man shouted, distressed.

The other man snapped back to reality. "PAUREM!" he shouted, and the room immediately stilled. Lady Florence sighed and relaxed on her bed, red-faced and exhausted. The sudden silence felt wrong at first, it contrasted so sharply with the noise just seconds ago. "I'm sorry, Felix. I was distracted, but that does not excuse my negligence."

"I understand, Russo. I, too, was distracted by the sight of poor Lady Florence. How in the name of Saint Dora could this come to pass?"

"How indeed." Russo sighed. First things first. He could not work in these conditions. "DEMAR."  White, holy light swirled out from his hands.

The dried porridge on Lady Florence's nightgown disappeared, as did the sweat on her brow. She now appeared clean and comfortable, which would have to do for now, even though Russo would prefer to do so much more, given the state of the room. He could not fathom how things could get so bad.

"Felix, will you tend to her wounds while I take a look at her mind?" Russo walked around the bed toward Lady Florence’s head. With her face relaxed and the purplish color gone, he could see how hollow her cheeks were. Did Duke LaVelle know his daughter was being starved to death?

"Of course." The younger-looking cleric tenderly picked up Lady Florence's right hand. Russo knew he was leaving her corporeal form well-cared for.

Judging by the things Lady Florence had been screaming, Russo was not looking forward to the things he was about to see, but there was no other way to help her. Besides, he would help her even if it wasn't a direct order from the King because she was clearly suffering. He couldn't allow someone to suffer once he knew about it.

He placed his large, cool hand on her warm forehead, noting her delicately arched brows. Beneath her closed eyelids, her eyes darted. 

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

♥♥♥⸸

"Make it stop!" Lady Florence screamed in the distance. 

Russo had immediately descended into one of the worst hellscapes he had ever experienced. It wasn't real—none of them were—but that didn't mean the remaining trauma from them wasn't. 

This had to be a curse. A nasty one. But, first things first.

"Make it stop!" he heard her again. This was Lady Florence's true voice. Not her screams. Not the demonic shouting. But the one crying out for help. 

First, he had to find her within the hellscape and bind her to him so she wouldn't get lost while he finished the work. It could take a while, and sometimes a person's subconscious would grow impatient or afraid and flee to safety. It was much better to drag them around like a dog on a lead, even if they didn't like it. 

"Make it stop, I say!" 

Lady Florence's voice was even louder. He had to be close!

But why couldn't he see her? She should be visible, her 'soul,' for lack of a better word, glowing at least a little bit. Then again, this hellscape was a horrifying mixture of fire, smoke, lightning, darkness, and nightmares, so maybe she was simply blending in a little too well. 

"Oof!" he tripped on something and fell flat on his face, which thankfully didn't hurt because he’d left his physical body behind. But what had he—"Lady Florence?"

"Please, make it stop…" 

It was her! But why couldn't she hear him? And why couldn't he see her? 

He reached out into the darkness until he felt her form, then gently pulled her upright. 

"Oh, dear Gods above," he whispered, horrified, for he immediately noticed two things. First, someone had put a mana binding on Lady Florence, what looked like several years ago, and they had never maintained it. 

But secondly, and more importantly, Lady Florence wasn't cursed. The reason she wasn't glowing like she should be was because instead, she was as dark as a shadow. 

Lady Florence was the curse.