The village had always smelled like honey and firewood. Soft and warm, like a memory she didn't want to wake from. Elira walked its quiet paths with her head lowered, the world a blur of woven baskets, open shutters, and voices that once sang her name with love.
Not anymore.
Now the villagers watched her with tight eyes and whispered when she passed.
There she goes. The cursed one.
The girl whose life brought death.
First, her mother — the only one who knew how to turn bitter roots into sweet-spiced warmth. Then her best friend, the spark in every gathering, gone without warning. And then… him.
Her fiancé.
Her oldest, truest friend.
They said it was coincidence. Then bad luck. Then something darker. Elira could still feel the way the village air shifted after the third funeral — like even the birds stopped singing. Like the world held its breath around her.
She didn't cry anymore.
She just... drifted.
That evening, when the sun melted gold across the trees, she climbed the path to the cliff. No one stopped her. No one even noticed.
She stood at the edge, wind tugging her hair, eyes lost in the endless drop below. The world had taken everything. Her light. Her future. Her name.
A whisper escaped her lips.
"I'm sorry."
She closed her eyes—
—and arms, strong and unfamiliar, caught her.
Pulled backward.
Held tight.
She gasped, twisting in the grip of a stranger. His breath was steady. His presence unshakable.
"That's not how your story ends," he said, voice deep like a storm behind calm skies.
Elira looked up.
He was tall. Dark. Beautiful in a way that felt like danger and safety at once.
And in that moment, for the first time since her world shattered—
She felt something shift.