The Palace of the Eternal Veynes

The Veyne palace had been abandoned—or so the villagers said—but it was never empty.

The ritual had bound the royal family to the palace forever. Not as ghosts, not as spirits, not as anything that could leave—they were malfunctioning immortals, each trapped in the cruelest iteration of their bodies,condemned to exist in a perfect imitation of life.

The Family

King Alaric stalked the corridors in a body locked in permanent contraction. His tetanic muscles groaned and snapped with every movement. Before Elara even saw him, she heard the cues:

The faint wood-cracking rhythm of his joints. The high-pitched squeal of grinding bones. A wet, gurgling rasp like breath struggling through water. The metallic “clicks” of his locked limbs. A heartbeat echoing through the floors—sometimes syncing with her own pulse. *The sudden, invisible thuds—his presence without form.

When you finally saw him, he was grotesquely upright, face frozen, eyes wide, veins glowing faintly under pale skin. He never stopped moving, never blinked, never fully relaxed.

Queen Isolde drifted through halls like a calm shadow, limbs bent at impossible angles, skin peeling, pieces of her body falling and reattaching incorrectly. Her serene smile made your stomach churn. She seemed peaceful—far too peaceful—but you knew better.

Prince Lucien, chained in iron braces fused to his broken joints, moved jerkily, scraping blood that evaporated instantly. Every motion was deliberate, precise, horrifying. He was the patrol. He never rested. He never stopped.

Princess Mireya existed outside of time. Her body was intact, but her mind fluctuated between moments. Sometimes she spoke of things that hadn’t happened yet. Sometimes she stared blankly, silent, her eyes tracking invisible movements. Yet in a rare moment of lucidity, she could answer You, if only partially.

Prince Caelum, the youngest, was caught in permanent near-death. His heart stuttered and stalled, his body convulsing violently, lungs choking mid-breath. His movements were spasmodic, jerky, a twisted parody of life. He was the closest to appearing normal—but only until he fell apart again.