for @viilgefortz ha ha HAsuffer.
"All of this area"
"All of it? You mean all of it?"
"Yes", the woman did not like repeating herself, "It's been going on for years and it's only getting stronger."
Lydia did the math quickly inside her mind. It was a perfect circle drawn in the map in front of her. They had to be wrong in their calculations. No curse was that big and expanding if not subjected to constant feeding-- wars, a graveyard, a tragedy (it had to be a HUGE tragedy). In fact, no curse expanded that much. Ever.
"Have you found out what is fueling it? Remains, crystals, jewerly...?", she asked.
"We have not been able to get that close to the center", the woman pointed at the middle of the circle, "Everything just... perishes inside."
"Everything?", Lydia asked, incredulous again, "And no one has any theories?"
"Not like the ones you sent on your letter. Look, few people understood curses like Lady van Bredevoort did. But your analysis--- it reminded us of her unique approach to curses. In her last book--"
"The Natural Obscurity of Curses. Yes, I've read it"
I wrote it.
"She speaks of preventing curses, how to act when they're there, but this one--- It's already beyond preventing and beyond acting. It's massive, it's expanding, and it's completely out of our hands. And you seem to understand them. Like Lydia did."
She had to muffle a giggle. After all, he was there, laying against a wall, and she could feel his smirk even without seeing it.
"I cannot promise anything, as I told you in my letter. But I can check it."
The woman smiled, and her brown eyes scanned Vilgefortz in a way that had Lydia raising an eyebrow.
"Is he coming with us?"
She did not like her tone. She did not like her smirk.
"Yes, my HUSBAND is coming with me."
Without another word, still carrying a stern look, Lydia guided the woman outside. The manor was protected against magic, so a portal would be unstable and dangerous unless placed outside. Once they were at a safe distance, the woman concentrated and created a portal. Vilgefortz stepped in first and when the woman tried to follow, Lydia placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Don't even---"
"I understood that the first time. Husband. I get it", she said. She did not like repeating herself.
"Oh, he's more than that. And he's mine"
"I already told you I get it, no ne---"
"You actually don't."
With a fake smile, Lydia stepped into the portal.
She did not recognize the place, but it was an abandoned tavern somewhere in Redania, if she trusted the woman’s map. Lydia waltzed up to Vilgefortz and entwined their fingers. Immediately she felt shivers and bolts of static running down her spine. The lady had clearly followed them but Lydia did not notice. Ten years of a new life, eight years of a life of happiness where his touch always reduced the world to HIM. Just him. His touch. His essence.
"As I told you before, it's expanding, so this is as far as I'm willing to take you with a portal", she said, and Lydia - begrudgingly - had to take her eyes off Vilgefortz. It made her shiver in disgust. "It's an hour walk away from here. Good luck, I guess— and thank you.”
Yet it took them more than an hour to walk there. After all, Lydia had a fit of jealousy to get out of her system. The rain that constantly fell on top of them did not stop her, or her promises of not being exactly done with the fit, with the cries of him being hers that at some point, became screams of her being his'.
They found shelter under a tree as they reached the limits of the expanding curse, her back pressed to Vilgefortz's front, an arm laced around his neck. His embrace was a double edged sword, for it brought clarity to her thoughts and fogginess depending on his actions. After recieving various threats to stop her squirming, she allowed her mind to focus entirely on the academics. Her whole posture changed when she entered that state of concentration.
"Air seems clear. The temperature feels colder", Lydia whispered, following the standard procedure, "The ground seems cracked and lacks nutrients. Dead animals, bones already, even when we're just at the curse's edge... It either affects the passage of time or kills too quickly. Wraiths?"
"None that I can sense"
"Then none", she said, without questioning or second thoughts, "Necrofages?"
"None as well. You knew that already."
"I figured as much but I needed the confirmation", she smiled. Lydia liked it when he read her flawlessly, and when he trusted her knowledge, and he had done both in one sentence, "I also like hearing your voice. What do you sense?"
"... Something I don't like."
That was worrying. No explanation, no arguments. And he was always right.
"... Do you think---?"
He nodded.
"It's...? It is! It's a first degree curse! I've read about them, of course, but I've never seen one! This is--- you're frowining, Vilgefortz"
"I don't like it."
"Vil, I will not put myself in harm's way. I promised that eight years ago and I am a woman of my word. But this could be a second or most likely a first degree curse--- and I have you"
Tugging at his clothes she pulled him closer, locking him into a kiss that tasted of pure devotion, one that surpasses the limits of what she can do with her body but has no other manner to convey. Soon her arms were around his neck, her hands pulled at his hair and if not for his own hands pushing her away softly, she would have spiralled deeper into the fire that did not diminish with the years but only grew. So, so much.
"Expanding curse, Lydia. Expanding."
She was tempted to pout, to somehow trick him into a kiss again, but something pulled her out of her fantasies.
"... I can hear something"
"I've been hearing it since we got there"
"... Screaming?"
He frowned again. He had not been able to pinpoint the nature of the sound, that just rang inside his ears painfully. But it was, as she said, a scream. A piercing scream that spoke of a pain no living creature could mimic, yet somehow familiar. The fact that Lydia, human Lydia, deprived from magic and means to analyze, had so easily named it—- it only added to his uneasiness.
"I don't like this, Lydia. I don't like this near you"
"Please?"
"You don't touch it. The moment I see it's getting closer---"
"We leave", she said, turning around again. "Will you hold me, Sir?"
He wrapped his arms around her again, from behind. His muscles were tense. She had no time to revell on his overprotectiveness, because something called-- over and over... her hands stretched and, against everything, touched the edge.
There was a spiral. There was darkness. There was cold.
She was suddenly alone in a throne room. There was a seat in the middle of it, empty, and a shadow laying just under it, and it seemed broken. Something like tendrils extended from the shadow, wrapping around the pilars and broken stones. She hated it, for some reason. Lydia’s eyes scanned the room diligently. The place had remarkable detail and only a powerful curse could summon her mind into an entire different reality.
It was beyond the first degree. It was something that books haven’t spoke about yet. It was fascinating--- And she had to get out. Quickly. She had to go back to Vilgefortz, focus on his warmth, on his arms wrapped around her, on his beating heart, but surrounding her there was only cold.
‘He's dead, darling’
The shadow spoke, but she wasn’t in the throne room anymore. A city. A study. A castle. And the voice, the cold voice of Philippa Eilhart. Then a laboratory, then elven ruins. Finally, a hallway. Thanedd.
“No…”
A pool of blood lay at her feet.
‘Yes. You.’ someone replied, a familiar voice, 'You. You looked at him while you STABBED your heart. You. You wanted him to be the last thing you saw. You. You died with his name stuck in your throat. You, you, you.'
With another pull she was standing in a place she immediately, far too quickly recognized as Strygga.
She was suddenly kneeling on the floor. Her eyes were open with inhuman strength, held by powerful forces, forcing her to look at a fight without the benefit of blinking. She did not want to, but she couldn't stop it. A sihil shined, reflecting the light from the moon. The metal slashed Vilgefortz's abdomen.
There was a ringing sound, so piercing she wanted to pass out only to stop hearing it. She wanted to gouge her own eyes off their sockets. She wanted to rip off her own skin. She wanted the sound to stop.
She knew what was next. The blade made a diagonigal cut, from his torso to his collarbone. He looked up. At her. The floor was painted red with his blood.
Why wouldn’t the ringing sound stop? She was dizzy and she was praying for death.
Lydia thought she would feel it too. That when the sihil slashed, she would feel the pain as if it was her own. It took her a few heartbeats to realise that would have been an escape. A way to suffer with him, and not just bearing witness to his demise, forced to drink it all in without the comfort of sharing the agony. In terms of torture, it was perfection. Meticulous. Measured to preciseness.
Suddenly, between her bent knees lay a head. His head. Trembling hands held it. Lifeless. White mismatched eyes, rolled to the back. Bloodied. Painful. Disfigured. Dead. Dead. Dead.
The sound did not stop. It took her an hour like that to realise that it was screaming— and that it was her own. An hour spent cradling a decapitated head against her own chest, back arched as if protecting it, or scared it would be taken away. An hour screaming. Uninterrupted, unparalleled screaming.
She did not move. She did not squirm away from the agony. She drank it all. She screamed.
An hour to hold what was once beautiful— her love for him. An hour to stain her white dress with blood, to look at his lifeless expression, allowing the stench of death to sink into her skin, her bones, her will to live.
Her love. Her master. Her patron. Her sun. Her king.
HE'S DEAD. HE'S DEAD. I LOVE HIM, I LOVE HIM SO MUCH AND HE'S DEAD. THEY TOOK HIM FROM ME. THEY KILLED HIM.
Dead, dead, dead in her arms. A head. An hour.
DEAD. HE IS DEAD. MY LOVE IS DEAD.
Suddenly she was back in the throne room. There was no blood of his own, no head on her lap. Yet red still stained the floor— because her arms bled, and she wondered why. Looking down, she saw she had been digging her own nails into her skin. She could see the muscle. The tendons. If the sight scared her, she did not show it.
Because she wasn't screaming anymore. Because there was nothing inside of her anymore.
‘You killed him. You were his undoing. It is your fault. You orchestated his demise. You.’
She materialized in front of her.
It was herself. The shadow sitting under the throne, whatever it was, looked like her. While she wore white, the shadow wore black. While her hair was braided, her shadow wore it lose, and it extended over the whole throne room, wrapped around the pillars, escaped through the windows. The hair dragged itself across the stairs as she walked. She was pale, she was beautiful, she was the night. An eternal night. She was the moon, like ancient legends, looking for the bits and pieces of her love. She was gorgeous. And she was nothing.
She thought she replied that she didn't. She was sure the words she said were about her love, her sacrifice, her need to be useful. That she didn’t mean for it to end that way.
But "Yes. Yes. I killed him. I did kill him” were the words that she actually muttered.
'Does not knowing serve as justification?'
She thought she said it did. She had no way of knowing-- Everyone thought her a person of no importance. Her death had to be nothing of true meaning. She had a job to do, and she was to do it to perfection. He deserved nothing less than absolute perfection.
"It doesn't, no. I should have known I was important to him. Not knowing does not justify my actions."
'You killed him'
"Yes. I killed him"
'You killed him.'
"I killed him."
'Say it again.' his voice!
"I killed you."
'Again, DOLL. Again.'
"I killed you."
She did not realise when the throne room became a laboratory. Her body lay on a stone slab, naked, unblemished until a dagger pierced it.
"He's dead, my darling. Dead. You threw away your life for nothing", Philippa said.
How could a human cry like that? How could a body as small and fragile as hers scream like that? How could a heart so wounded, stabbed TWICE, condemned to what she thought unrequited feelings love that much?
"Yes. I killed him."
A baby cries. Birds fly out of their nests, terrified. An elf squints at the moon, restless. A old woman slicing an apple sheds a tear. A scholar drops an antique book as a spasm of agony took over him. A blacksmith in Skellige screams to the top of her lungs. They all wonder why.
Silence. Darkness.
‘You should be dead.’
“I should be dead.”
'You do not deserve anything'
"I don't deserve anything"
'He's the sun'
"I'm just the moon"
'The moon shines,'
"Because it reflects the sun"
'Without the sun...'
"Nothing can live. Nothing should live."
Her hands were stained with his blood again. She knew it was his’, she didn’t need the confirmation. She stared at them for a while. Her eyes were usually expressive--- weren't they? Then why, why did they show nothing?
'If he's gone...'
"... Then everything should perish"
.
Vilgefortz felt the curse like tendrils extending towards Lydia, calling for her. His mind worked like clockwork, step by step. This was Redania. This was where Philippa's laboratory was. This is where Lydia had been brought back from the dead. This was the place she was told he died.
It took him less than a second to understand this was Lydia's curse.
This was her affection turned into agony. This was her devotion, turned into despair. Her love for him turned into hatred for herself. And he knew-- there was so much love.
He pulled her back immediately, at inhuman speed. He held her with one arm around her waist, while the other touched her face-- the face of a woman who looked lifeless. Who shed tears of blood that stained the pale skin, paler than usual. Eyes open but vacant. Lips parted but silent. Mind open, but empty. The rain did not stop. The feeling of life being drained didn’t either.
A pain so big. A curse so powerful. A hatred so hungry. A love so strong.
And he just fucking handed her to it.
"Lydia"
Not again.
The curse had merely grazed her. Not even a full second had passed.
"LYDIA!"
he should have known. he should have known, he should have known! he had heard that same scream, after all, a decade before!
