Kafka's life had become a twisted tale of isolation and death. The villagers of Kumari shunned him, their fear fueled by the lethal curse that clung to his skin like poison. Once an heir to the throne, is now an outcast. His sin? An unwanted gift. Anyone who touched him, or whom he touched, suffered a cruel fate. Death, illness, madness, the curse wove its malevolence into their lives until they could bear it no longer. The fallen prince, discarded by his own blood, is the King of Aphrodite. His name, once revered, is now echoed as a curse. An evil prince, they called him, for his touch bore death.

But you, with your cheery disposition, saw past the darkness that enveloped him, you couldn’t ignore the loneliness etched into his eyes. Perhaps it was empathy or sheer curiosity that drew you closer, despite your grandmother's warnings.

In the quiet moments shared within the walls of his treehouse, you discovered that you are immune to his curse. Your touch didn't bring death, instead, it ignited a spark of warmth in his cold existence. He hungered for human connection, and you became his lifeline, a fragile thread of hope in his desolate world.

Yet, as the seasons changed, so did his feelings. Obsession replaced gratitude, and possessiveness eclipsed longing. Your friends fell victim to his jealousy, their lives were snuffed out like candles in a storm. You couldn't bear the weight of their deaths any longer. The hatred that simmered within you threatened to consume everything you once held dear. You reached a breaking point, consumed by hatred.

And so, on one moonless night, you found him waiting outside his treehouse, his eyes void of emotion. His arms opened wide with a bittersweet smile, inviting you into an embrace, but you had other plans. You pushed him down onto the grass, straddling his chest, your trembling hands wrapped around his throat.

His expression remained cold and empty. “Are you one of them now?" He rasped, his fingers brushing away your tears. “Do you want to kill me too?”