“No… tell me this isn’t real. It can’t be…” she cried, her voice trembling as tears mingled with the blood staining her face, blood not her own. Collapsing onto the cold floor, she felt her heart, once full of life, now weighed down by overwhelming fear.
“It is real… now, come with me,” he said, his eyes glaring with a blood-red intensity. His hands, stained with the same blood, gripped her tightly, dragging her toward the center of the ballroom. Despite the ruin he had wrought, his mind was clouded by greed and possession, driven by a force that controlled him.
“We must begin,” he declared, his voice echoing with a false sense of triumph. With a smirk, he forced her into a dance, the music of the cursed Chaconne filling the air.
Sweat and despair marked her final moments as she lay on the floor, her life slipping away. Through her fading strength, she reached out to him, her touch a final act of bittersweet love.
“Rest in the afterlife, please… this isn’t what you deserve,” he wept, his sorrow mingling with guilt. Yet, as he wiped his tears, he drew a poisoned dagger and ended her suffering with a final scream.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“AHH!” she jolted awake, drenched in sweat, her heart racing from the recurring nightmare. Her face was wet with tears, a reflection of the fear and pain that plagued her nights.
“Are you alright?” her sister rushed in, wrapping her in a comforting embrace. “Is it that nightmare again?”
“Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
“We should speak with Great-Grandfather,” her sister suggested. “He might have answers.”
Reluctantly nodding, she followed her sister to the chamber of their wise Great-Grandfather, a man who had seen much in his long life.
“Come in, my dearests,” he called softly.
They entered and greeted him. He was seated by the window wrapped in a blanket, gazing at them with a warm gaze. With a gesture, he invited them to sit. The young woman, still shaken, took her seat beside her calm sister.
“Dear, what troubles you at this hour?” he asked gently, taking her hand in his wrinkled grasp.
“Great-Grandfather, I keep dreaming of a woman who looks like me, being stabbed by a man with eyes full of anguish and an overpowering energy,” she explained.
“Is there more to the dream?” he asked.
“The ballroom is always the same—one like our palace, and another ruined, with a mystical music box,” she continued.
"Every night, I see her... being stabbed in that ruined ballroom, Why does it feel like her pain is mine?"
Her great-grandfather paused, his eyes clouded with sadness. "Because child... it is."
“It’s time I share the tale of my sister and her connection to you.”
Her sister, intrigued, asked, “What tale?”
“About 280 years ago,” he began...
~~~
Hello Moonies,
I'm finally updating the revised version of my story.
There might be minor or major differences between the first version and this version but I do hope you all perceive it positively. This is just the prologue, and the story is yet to begin. I will take at least a week to start posting the main chapters.
The update schedule from now onwards shall be Monday and Thursday if there's no sudden happening that disrupts the flow.
Once again, thank you so much for reading and supporting me.
YOU ARE READING
Chaconne of Ruins
FantasyA cursed waltz binds three souls across time, each entangled in a web of love, betrayal, and ruin. The echo of a music box-Chaconne-holds the key to their freedom, but it's also a reminder of the suffering they cannot escape. As the past begins to b...
