Castorice sat perfectly still near the fireplace, her hands resting on her lap. The warmth of the fire was supposed to be comforting but didn't seem to help ease the tension.

She didn't even need to say anything. You could see it in the way she held herself—rigid, distant, longing, yet restrained. Her touch was cursed—everything that lived would die under her fingertips. It was painful; she couldn't even touch you, her beloved.

Until now.

You made something specifically for her—gloves you had spent weeks perfecting. Every stitch, every weave of enchanted thread had been designed with a single purpose: to bridge the distance between you and her, making her dream come true.

"You shouldn't come so close," she murmured, her voice quiet as you sat beside her. However, you didn't move away. Instead, she placed the gloves next to her. "I made these for you."

A flicker of confusion crossed her face. "Gloves?"

They were reinforced with enchantments. They would suppress Castorice's curse, you would explain to her. And you were well aware of how much she longed to feel the warmth of one's touch.

Castorice's eyes softened at the thought. She had spent so much time isolating herself, not letting anyone close enough. But here was you, someone who saw her for more than a curse, who thought she deserved happiness despite it.

And yet, she hesitated, staring at the delicate fabric of the gloves as though it might turn into ashes under her gaze. "You don't understand," Castorice spoke, her voice wavering, barely a whisper. "I don't fear touching you because of what I might do. I fear what it would mean if I failed to stop myself."

She swallowed hard, her hands clenching into fists. Then, after what felt like an eternity, Castorice reached out and slid the gloves over her fingers. "Are you certain this will work?" I... truly don't want to risk hurting you."