The Immortal Prince ✔️

2

Word Count: 2158

~Vaela

Morality is a punishing thing.

Been there. Done that. Died young, spent nearly a century in death before arriving here. The immortal realm, where I am to live out a not so immortal existence, as I shall eventually die. The name must have sounded nice in its creation.

The only true immortality belongs to the pure-bloods.

Dark, twisted individuals with magic beyond their means. Magic to crush realms, to torture and abuse.

Eyla's voice echoes through my subconscious, jolting me from my vacant thoughts.

"No...No, no Vaela, tell me you're lying." She's at my side now, shaking me. I look up at her, tresses of dark hair spilling out from her woollen hat, pure alarm in her eyes.

"It's a mortality spell," I whisper.

With my backside on craggy rock, the puffy wound on my knee still seeping blood, I'm painfully aware of my sudden morality. It should have healed...I shouldn't be so damn cold.

Eyla blinks. "That's a thing?"

"Well of all places a mortality spell will be located, surely it would be here." I throw my hands up, gesturing at our environment, at the sinister pool.

"Okay, you can stop reminding me we are in a creepy cave up a mountain...Oh great, the cold is probably going to kill you." Eyla covers her hands with her mouth, visibly trying to stop her gaze from straying to my leg.

I lean back, although quickly decide against it as a particularly sharp edge nips at my vulnerable skin. "No shit, Eyla."

She pauses.

"What if I..."

"What?"

"You know. What if I..." She raises her arms, shaping her hands like she's clutching a ball, then twists her wrists, wincing at the same time.

My eyes narrow. "What are you doing?"

She drops her arms back to her lap, huffing out a breath. "What if I snapped your neck?"

"And what if I don't get a second chance at life?" I gasp out, edging away from her. Not to mention, I'm not spending another near century in Death's realm, working toward immortality. There has to be another solution...

Her nose scrunches up as she clambers to her feet. "Fine, let's check the rocks and see if there are any hints inscribed there."

"Oh, so now you're the sarcastic one?"

"I get snappy under pressure, alright? It's not every day I watch my best friend get turned into a mortal again in quite literally the worst place ever!" She whines.

Rolling my eyes, I prop myself up with enough leverage to be hauled to my feet by Eyla. I'm unsteady, weak. The stinging from my wound is distracting, although not as much as the cold nagging at me, crawling under what I thought was warm clothing.

"You go...You go get help and I'll stay here," I direct helplessly, pressing my teeth together to avoid them chattering.

"There's nothing to start a fire, you'll die."

"And if I go outside I'll die."

Eyla and I just stare at each other. Despite her breath clouding in front of her face, her cheeks are still crimson, her limbs agile. I imagine all healthy colour has seeped from my face, leaving me as nothing more than a cold, shuddering mess.