Weaver's Curse
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Compleet woe, feb. 16, 20223h 12m
Indeara Vef can't remember anything. Quite literally. Everything before she woke up in the middle of nowhere is a blank slate. Perhaps the Weavers will provide a clue about her foggy past.
Kaedwyn Telare-ess is on the run and has been since her banishment from her homeland when she was young. She doesn't know who she can trust, or even who is pursuing her, or why.
Toby Reganne refuses to accept the path of arranged marriage that his family has picked for him. That snobby noblewoman can go jump in a lake. He'll find the life of adventure he's always wanted.
Sedine Malachite lives in hiding, waiting for the day when the rest of the world finally declares her dead, and she can move freely in her home country again.
Isaan is cursed. It wasn't hard to figure out. Not everyone wakes up some days only remembering fragments about themselves. The problem is, he can't even remember who might have cursed him.
Two parties set out to find the mysterious Weavers; one led by a distant memory from what can only be another lifetime, the other led by a mysterious voice speaking in their leader's head.
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She was shattered, her past erased by pain, her voice stolen by trauma. He was a ruler-not just of politics but of the shadows where justice was a debt paid in blood. Ruthless to those who took justice for granted, yet never cruel to the innocent. At an early age, he learned one truth-power commands justice. Without it, you're nothing. That night, their worlds collided. He found her-battered, nameless, drowning in silence. He should've walked away. But something about her... felt familiar. A forgotten memory. A name lost in time. A connection buried beneath scars. She had no past she was willing to share. He had a childhood he never let go of. But fate doesn't ask for permission-it rewrites the story in the most ruthless ways. Some scars don't just heal... they reveal. And when the truth surfaces, will it mend what was lost or destroy them both? A story of pain, justice and an unexpected love that blooms in the darkest places.
Loving him was the cruelest kind of torment-a love that lived in the shadows, one that could never bask in the warmth of the sun. I was nothing more than a stolen moment, a whispered name in the dark, a secret he tucked away between the life he had built and the one he wished he could have. I knew, deep down, that I was a fracture in his story, a fleeting escape from the weight of his reality. And yet, I still clung to him, to the illusion that for a few precious hours, he was mine. But the truth was relentless-it came in the form of unanswered texts, in the way he dressed hurriedly after loving me, in the way he said her name with the same tenderness he once gave me. I had given him my heart, knowing he would never be able to keep it, and yet, I loved him still. Loved him as I watched him walk away, loved him as he returned to the arms of the woman he truly belonged to, loved him as I drowned in the loneliness he left behind. Because no matter how much I wished it to be different, I was not his home-I was just a place he visited before going back to where his heart truly lived.
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