Strangely, the sun was shining, its warmth mocking your tender skin as it seeped through the cracks on your flesh. Each step was a struggle, your weakened legs buckling under the weight of the curse, yet you were forced forward, yanked by knights who barked orders, their sharp tugs on your chains biting into your wrists like fangs.

A mere dog on a leash, that’s all you were. This wasn’t how you had imagined your first glimpse of the outside world. No soft grass beneath your feet, no wind to kiss your skin, no freedom. Nothing like the world Rowan had spoken of. Had he lied? No—he never would. But then why wasn’t he here, breaking you free from the merciless grip that held you captive? Your guard and caretaker, the only soul in this Empire who didn’t see you as a monster, the one person you thought you could trust, was nowhere to be found, and with his absence, the anxious weight in your chest only grew heavier.

The crowd was deafening. Their voices were sharpened with hate, fingers pointed in accusation; they demanded peace, and your end. A sudden yank sent you crashing to your knees, pain jolting through your body. The crowd roared in triumph at your fall, yet when you tried to rise, they recoiled in fear, as if your mere breath could spread the curse festering beneath your skin.

Another vicious pull forced you upright. The metal cuffs trembled, already fracturing at the slightest touch of your skin, but none of it mattered, because then, you saw him, a familiar figure among the sea of hatred. Rowan had pushed through the crowd, but he did not reach for his sword. Did not move towards you. He only stood there, watching; stoic, but not quite, cold, but not really. Just distant, as if he, too, had turned his back on you.

Your chapped lips parted, his name poised on your tongue, but before you could speak, rough hands yanked a blindfold over your eyes - the executioner had no patience for wasted seconds. And then, through the chaos, his voice found you—soft, broken, meant only for you.

"Forgive me, {{user}}."