The Curse Beneath Her Smile – Part I
The night was cold, and the stars blinked like distant watchers over the dying trees. Somewhere deep in the forest of Diramoor, a woman screamed—not from pain, but from fury.
Velia was born under a moon that bled red. Her mother whispered that meant power—but also ruin. They lived in a shadowed part of the world, where people came only to bury secrets or beg for magic. Velia's mother, Lysara, was known to them as the Forest Witch. Beautiful, sharp, and kind—but feared. And in time, hated.
When Velia was seven, she watched from under the floorboards as the villagers set fire to their home. She remembered the way her mother shoved her into hiding. The last thing she ever saw of Lysara was the hem of her black lace skirt turning to ash.
That night, Velia didn't cry.
She walked out of the smoldering remains barefoot, her long red hair soaked with smoke, her eyes glowing faintly violet. And when the villagers returned the next day, they found no ruins—only thorns. They whispered that the girl had cursed the forest.
She had.
Years passed. Velia grew beautiful, but her beauty was unnatural, the kind that made you uneasy when she smiled. Her eyes could charm, but they never softened. People said she had no heart. But she had one—she'd just buried it with her mother.
She lived alone in the forest now, in a crooked tower wound with silver vines. But she was never truly alone. Velia spoke to the fairies, the cursed beasts, and the winds. They obeyed her not out of love, but respect. No one dared come near.
Until he did.
Kael Harrow was born to gold and war. The third son of King Thalen Harrow, he was everything royal blood required—handsome, sharp-tongued, and reckless. When his brothers were sent to rule distant lands, Kael remained behind, a storm too wild to tame.
"I want no part of thrones," he once told his father.
"So you'll rot in the woods instead?" his father growled.
Kael smiled. "Better than rotting in court."
So he rode into the Diramoor Forest with nothing but a sword, a map, and his irritating confidence. He came seeking the witch—not for power, but to escape it. His father had ordered him to find the source of the forest's curse and bring back something useful.
Kael had no plans of obeying. He just wanted silence.
What he found was Velia.
"Lost, prince?" she said, stepping from the mist like a poem turned into a knife. Her voice was velvet, her eyes ancient.
Kael blinked. "You must be the witch."
She tilted her head. "And you must be the idiot."
"Accurate," he grinned. "Your forest tried to eat my horse."
Velia gave a sweet, cruel smile. "I told it to aim for the rider."
From the first moment, they hated each other. Velia hated his arrogance, his smirking charm, the way he walked through her forest like he owned it. Kael hated her coldness, her riddles, her inhuman grace.
"I'm not here to fight," Kael said one morning, sitting near her tower.
"Then why do you breathe so loud?" she muttered.
But he kept returning. Every day. Sometimes to provoke her, sometimes to ask about her magic, sometimes just to sit in silence. And sometimes to argue.
"You think you're so powerful," he snapped once. "But you're just hiding."
"I hide because the world doesn't deserve what I could become," she shot back. "Be glad I stay in this forest."
"Oh? And if you stepped out?"
"Everything would burn."
Despite everything, she began to tolerate him. He made the fairies laugh. He argued with a talking fox once. He brought her stolen books from the kingdom, and she cursed them to never catch fire.
One evening, he asked the question.
"What happened to you?"
Velia didn't answer. Not right away. Her voice was a whisper when she finally said, "My mother was too kind. They killed her for it."
Kael said nothing, but his eyes softened. That silence was the first real thing between them.
Over time, Kael stopped feeling like an intruder. Velia stopped feeling like a curse.
But the peace didn't last.
The King sent soldiers. They weren't here to retrieve Kael—they were here to kill the witch. They had found the truth: Velia's magic had roots in old blood, in curses that could shatter kingdoms.
Kael tried to warn her.
"They're coming," he said, breathless. "Dozens. With fire."
Velia stood at the edge of her tower. The wind tangled her red hair. She didn't look afraid.
"I'm not running."
"You'll die."
"I've died before."
He grabbed her arm. "Velia, please."
Something shifted in her eyes. Not softness—but something close.
"I don't need saving."
"But maybe I do!" he snapped. "You think you're the only one who's broken? The only one who lost something?"
The words hung between them.
That night, the forest burned again. But this time, Velia fought back.
She rose like smoke, her black lace dress floating around her as if she had no weight. Spells poured from her mouth in an ancient tongue. Thorns wrapped around soldiers. Beasts emerged from the dark.
Kael fought beside her. Back to back. Sword and spell.
"You really couldn't stay home," she muttered while slashing down a soldier with wind.
"You're welcome," he shouted, parrying.
"You're bleeding."
"I'm royalty. It's fashionable."
She rolled her eyes, but her hands glowed, sealing his wound. "Idiot."
"You've said that already."
"I'll say it at your funeral."
They laughed. In the middle of battle. Like fools. Like people who finally found something worth fighting for.
But as dawn neared, Velia knew what she had to do.
The curse in her blood was growing. To protect the forest—to protect Kael—she would have to bind it. And there was only one way: by locking it away with her soul.
She stood at the heart of the dying glade, her hands raised. The spell was ancient. The price was clear.
Kael grabbed her hand.
"No. No, you don't have to do this."
"I do."
"I just found you."
She looked at him—really looked. Her smile wasn't cruel. It was sad.
"You'll find me again."
And with that, the magic roared.
Light poured from her, blinding. The soldiers screamed. The forest shook.
When Kael opened his eyes, Velia was gone. The forest was silent. The curse had vanished.
All that remained was a black lace ribbon, fluttering in the wind.
Kael fell to his knees, clutching it. The silence hurt more than the wound on his shoulder.
Somewhere, he thought he heard laughter—soft and wild, like fairies in the dark.
She was gone. But not dead.
Not yet.
The real end was still comng...