Painted Roses

Broken Curses

Rosalia slammed her fist against the ground, curling in on herself with a cry. Beldon dropped down beside her, wrapping an arm over her but she shoved him back.

"It's not fair!" she shouted, her nails digging into the cold ground, "It's not fair! It should have worked! Why couldn't it have worked?!"

"Rose," Beldon started and she thudded her fist into his chest, stopping him.

"Why can't it work the same way? Luka died and came back, why can't... why not... " Tears started to stream down her face again and Beldon ventured to pull her into his arms a second time. She didn't resist and he gathered her up, resting his arms under her back and legs and stood up, pulling her with him.

"Lets go back to Rose Castle," he muttered, tucking her in tight, "Lets have the doctor look at you and get you fixed up."

"Wait."

Rosalia looked up and Beldon turned them around at Cliffwood's voice. He was still knelt by the well, eyes tired and void of light; he looked so weary and distant as he stared into the shadows of the water.

"You can b—" Beldon started and Rosalia held up a hand and pulled away from him, carefully stepping down from Beldon's arms and walked over, sinking to the ground beside Cliffwood and looking at him.

"What?" she asked.

Without looking around, Cliffwood reached over to her, pointing to the wound on her waist.

"This will kill you, very soon, once the adrenaline wares off," he muttered.

"Then I should go," Rosalia said simply.

Cliffwood shook his head and gently touched the wound. The strangest sensation bloomed through the gash. It was like being stitched together, but it didn't hurt at all.

Cliffwood pulled his hand away and Rosalia looked down. There was no wound. Lots of blood, lots of mess, but no wound anymore.

"Seeing as my sister was the one who tried to kill you, I might as well be the one to fix you."

Rosalia looked down at herself, touching the bare skin then shook her head. "You owe me that, at least," she muttered, turning her head away. "You owe me a lot more. Find a way to end our engagement, fix things."

Cliffwood gave a weak chuckle and looked at her. "I just killed my own sister, I don't think a wedding is the most appropriate occasion to have looming on the horizon."

"And you can tell my father that," Rosalia said, about to stand up when Cliffwood caught her hand and pulled her down again.

"Wait," he muttered.

"What?" Rosalia snapped, snatching her hand away, rubbing her fingers as ice threaded through them at the touch. She wanted to go. She wanted to go home, or to the castle, hide away in her room and not see the world for a long, long time.

Cliffwood held up a finger to tell her to wait and Rosalia got to her feet, spinning away.

"Wait."

Rosalia stopped.

She could hear the water of the well rippling behind her. Her eyes widened as ice settled in her veins and she whirled around as a hand shot out of the depths, grabbing the edge of the wall and starting to haul itself upwards.

Rosalia sank to the ground, mouth open, eyes wide, staring as a dark head pulled itself free of the water, another hand coming up to help, dragging its body dressed in rags upwards, long black hair pouring over the shoulders and the face.