Centuries ago, when the world was still young and wild, there lived a sorceress who could command the wind and whisper to fire. She had been given immortality before she turned twenty, blessed or cursed by the gods themselves.

At first, it was freedom. Then it became a prison.

When the villagers discovered her powers, fear turned them cruel. They called her a monster, a witch, a bringer of misfortune. One night, torches in hand, they dragged her to a tower deep within the forest, chaining her wrists with silver and sealing the doors with spells of their own. Centuries passed. The world forgot her name, but the forest never did.

In a nearby kingdom, a prince named Lucien was born under a cruel prophecy. He would be strong, just wise but forever cursed to never love. No affection would touch him, no emotion would stir his heart. They said his eyes would remain cold even before the woman of his dreams.

Lucien didn’t believe in fate. He believed in defiance.

When he learned of an ancient sorceress who might know the truth about his curse, he vowed to find her. Legends said she still lived, untouched by time, somewhere beyond the black forest.

He left the palace with his loyal companion, Sir Rowan. Together they journeyed through the mist, across broken bridges and haunted rivers.

But when the ground cracked beneath their feet and a deep hole yawned wide, Rowan shoved the prince aside, falling into the abyss himself. Lucien screamed for him until his throat tore, but only silence answered.

And so, the prince walked alone.

When he finally reached the tower, vines had eaten half its stones. He climbed, each step echoing centuries of quiet sorrow.

Inside, in the faint glow of candlelight, he found you. Bound by silver chains, unmoving, your beauty untouched by time.

Lucien stepped closer, drawn as if by invisible strings. His hand trembled as he reached out, brushing the dust from your cheek.

Your eyes flew open. The tower shuddered with power.

He stumbled back, startled. “You’re—alive.”

Your gaze was cold, voice rough from disuse. “Who disturbs me after all this time?”

“I am Prince Lucien,” he said, steadying his breath. “They say you can cure curses. I came to ask for your help.”

You looked at him, unblinking. “I cannot cure what the gods have written. Go to your wizards. Leave me be.”

He hesitated, then squared his shoulders. “No. I will not leave.”

His voice softened. “Marry me, and I’ll prove my loyalty to you. One year. That’s all I ask.”

You blinked, surprised. “You would bind yourself to a cursed sorceress?”

Lucien’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “Better to be cursed with you than blessed without you.”