[44.5] An Ancient Grudge

Only Priscilla's sobs remained, "I-I-I want to go hooome!"

I couldn't bear to hear her painful cries. I looked at her sympathetically, "Don't cry…"

"B-But! W-We are going t-to die!"

"We won't die…"

She looked at me in distress, "How d-do you know?!"

I couldn't answer.

I closed my eyes and tilted my head back to rest against the jagged rocks poking through the rose bush, "Would you like to hear a story?"

She rubbed her eyes as she sobbed, "S-Story?"

Seeing that I got her attention, I smiled weakly. I cleared my hoarse throat, "That's right. There was a story I was told as a child about a man who lived desperately as he tried to seek out happiness. He saw the world through a different set of eyes and wasn't accepted because of it. His only solace was being able to paint what he could see. He struggled to eat, he struggled to live… But he continued to paint despite those around him taunting him for his poor skill. Everyone told him that he would never amount to anything."

Priscilla whispered, "...What happened to that man?"

A small smile crossed my lips, "Everyone came to learn his name. He became famous."

"S-So those bullies were wrong! He was talented!"

"He only became famous after dying. However, while he was alive he put all his worth into his art. Since it wasn't appreciated, he felt as if he was a nobody. His family had to watch as he got worse and worse until finally, he returned home one last time without his beloved painting set. He laid on his bed and closed his eyes for the last time."

I stared into the darkness in a daze, "He died thinking he was worthless."

Priscilla sniffed, "T-This is a terrible story. Why are you telling me this?"

"I'm not sure." I chuckled, "The point is that in the end, he proved he wasn't worthless because of the emotion and dedication he put into his artwork. He left something behind that was priceless."

She clicked her tongue, "If I saw him, I would slap sense into him! Why would you put your worth into what you leave behind!? You'll be gone by then! Fame shouldn't matter. It should only matter that you live a life that makes you happy."

I laughed at her enthusiasm, "It's easy to say that, but you can't always reason with your heart."

"Hmph. Well, I still don't like it. My brother is the same way. He's always trying to be perfect, but he won't listen to me when I say he already is! No matter how much I try to convince him, it never works. It's really infuriating!"

I smiled softly, "You really respect your brother, don't you?"

Her cheeks flushed in the dim light as she held her knees, "He's the best older brother in all of existence. I don't remember much about my childhood, but I always remembered he was there to protect me. From the very beginning, it was me and him against the rest of the world."

I listened as she went on a long story about all the times Felix was there for her. She shared with me his embarrassing moments, the trouble they got into together, and all the heartwarming moments the two shared together.

I let her continue to talk, relieved that she had finally calmed down.

After a while, she grew tired from talking and the small area grew silent once more.

My eyes trailed back to check Cyrus's condition once more. His eyes were now closed, trembling from the pain.

How long have we been here?

I slowly opened his shirt and found that the bruising was worse.

However, the strange magic circle seared into his flesh over his heart caught my attention once more.

I reached out to trace the foreign runes.

His lips trembled as my finger delicately felt each bump.

I whispered almost silently, "What does it mean?"

Priscilla gazed weakly at me, "It's his curse."

My fingers paused, "...Curse?"

She answered calmly, "Remember when we called him curse boy? It was because of that mark. It's the proof of his demon ancestry and that he is a direct descendent of Alora."

I turned my attention to her.

She continued, "It's a family curse that is passed from mother to child. The mother dies in childbirth and the child follows the same pattern. They grow up, have a daughter, and die. Prince Cyrus is the first boy to inherit it. No one ever lived until they were a senior. They all died young."

My fingers twitched.

"Why… Why did he never tell me?"

Priscilla pursed her lips, "It's a mark of shame. It's the reason we all avoided him. We didn't want to be affected by the curse."

"But how can you be affected by the curse if it only kills mother and child?"

Priscilla forced a smile, "The curse is meant to be inherited, but it's not what makes it so frightening. It attacks his heart until the only thing that remains is an obsession. One of his relatives was so obsessed with her looks that she killed everyone she deemed more attractive than her. My father also told me how Cyrus's mother was so obsessed with her husband that she attacked a woman who tried to steal her husband away."

I looked up at her in shock, "His mother?"

She nodded, "The woman survived with only facial wounds, but the damage was done. No one went near those with the curse mark any longer. His mother was placed in the estate belonging to Cyrus's Uncle where only her husband could visit. Everyone learned to avoid her and her soon-to-be child."

"How did the curse start?"

"I was told that it was because of an ancient grudge. A demon placed the curse on Alora after she slaughtered his family… Although I'm not sure if that is a true story or not…"

I hummed and looked back at Cyrus who was turning his head from side to side as if in agony. I retracted my hand, "Obsession… Huh…"

I heard her stomach grumble.

She whimpered in embarrassment, "S-Sorry."

"Are you hungry?" I pulled out my bag, "I brought snacks, so you can have some."

I handed her a small bread roll which she took hesitantly, "A-Are you sure it's okay?"

I nodded, "It's fine."

She stared at it for a moment, "Maybe… Maybe I should save it… Just in case."

I smiled at her and turned back to Cyrus. I nudged him, "Cyrus… Are you awake?"

His face trembled, but he didn't respond.

I reached down to feel his forehead, only to be shocked by the sudden rise in temperature.

He has a fever.

I bit down on my lip as I stared at him.

What can I possibly do to help?

I condensed a small chill over my hand and placed it on his forehead.

He let out a comforted sigh and for a brief moment, he didn't look as if he was in that much pain.

I felt a tear slowly crawl down my cheek.

Is this all I can do?

…How worthless.