── 𝓕𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝓜𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝅄 ݁ ⏜



❝ 𝐈𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭. ❞

✧ ࣪⊹˖ 𝓒𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝓣𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄 𝜗𝜚˚⋆



The carriage interior was a cocoon of luxury, its walls lined with dark velvet and gold accents that gleamed faintly in the light of a small lantern hanging from the ceiling. The rhythmic clatter of hooves on cobblestones was muffled by the carriage's thick construction, but it did little to ease the tension hanging in the enclosed space.

Lucian, seated across from you, looked as composed as ever. His dark green attire was tailored to perfection, its subtle gold embroidery reflecting the warm tones of his hair. He had one leg crossed over the other, his elbow resting on the armrest, and his fingers drumming idly against his chin. His emerald eyes glinted in the lantern's light, sharp and unyielding, as they flicked toward you.

"You've been quiet," he remarked, his tone casual but probing, as though his words were testing the temperature of your mood. "I hope you're not dreading the evening too much."

You kept your gaze fixed on the window, the passing streetlamps casting fleeting shadows across your reflection. "I am here because you requested it," you replied evenly, your voice smooth yet distant.

His lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smirk appearing before he quickly masked it with feigned neutrality. "You make it sound as though I've dragged you into exile," he said lightly. "It's a simple outing."

"Simple?" The word slipped from your lips like a quiet challenge, accompanied by a wry smile that you didn't bother hiding. "Nothing about you, or this situation, is ever simple."

The last part was quieter, barely audible, but you knew he had caught it. His expression remained composed, though a glint in his eyes betrayed a flicker of amusement—or perhaps irritation. It was difficult to tell with Lucian. Everything about him felt measured, deliberate, like a mask crafted with such precision that even the slightest crack would reveal nothing but more layers.

The carriage slowed as it approached the grand amphitheatre, its facade a vision of opulence against the darkened sky. Ornate carvings adorned the stone exterior, intricate details illuminated by the warm glow of gas lamps that lined the entrance. The building loomed like a palace of stories yet to be told, its imposing presence softened only by the flickering light that danced across its surface.

Lucian exited first, his movements as fluid and assured as ever. He turned and extended his hand toward you, his green eyes steady, expectant.

You hesitated, your fingers brushing against the fabric of your gloves as you considered his outstretched hand. Accepting it felt like conceding something intangible, a silent agreement to step further into the game he so effortlessly orchestrated. But ignoring it would create its own spectacle, and you had no desire to fuel the already rampant whispers that followed you.

Reluctantly, you placed your hand in his. The warmth of his touch seeped through the fine material of your gloves, an unwelcome reminder of his nearness. He helped you down from the carriage with practised ease, his grip firm but not overbearing. As soon as your feet touched the marble steps, you withdrew your hand, the gesture swift and deliberate.

He led you up the staircase, his pace unhurried, his posture as regal as the setting demanded. The grand entrance of the amphitheatre opened before you, revealing a foyer that seemed to glitter with its own light. The marble floors were polished to a mirror-like sheen, and towering chandeliers adorned with countless crystals hung from the vaulted ceiling, casting a warm, golden glow over the gathering throng of nobles.

Inside, the air was filled with the hum of conversation, the occasional trill of laughter rising above the murmur. Nobles in their finest attire mingled in clusters, their jewels catching the light as they gestured with gloved hands. The scent of perfume and polished wood mingled with the faint aroma of candle wax, creating an atmosphere that was both heady and suffocating.

Lucian guided you through the crowd with the ease of someone accustomed to being the centre of attention. Heads turned as you passed, whispers following in your wake like a shadow. You kept your expression composed, your head held high, though every step felt like a march into battle.

When you reached the private box, you were met with a space as lavishly appointed as the rest of the amphitheatre. Plush crimson seats framed by gilded trim offered a perfect view of the stage below, where a deep red curtain concealed the performance yet to come. A small table held crystal glasses and a chilled bottle of champagne, a detail that felt both excessive and calculated.

"I thought you might appreciate the arts," Lucian said as he gestured for you to take a seat. His tone was light, almost conversational, but there was a thread of something deeper woven into his words. "Stories have a way of revealing truths we might otherwise overlook."

You settled into your seat, the velvet cushions soft beneath you, though they did little to ease the tension coiled in your chest. "And what truth are you hoping to reveal tonight?" you asked, your voice sharp despite your effort to keep it neutral.

His smile deepened, though it was far from reassuring. There was a glint in his eyes now, one that felt unnervingly like satisfaction. "Perhaps you'll discover it for yourself," he said, his gaze flickering to the stage as the orchestra began its prelude.

You clenched your hands in your lap, the delicate fabric of your gown rustling faintly with the movement. The room around you seemed to blur, the hum of the crowd and the swelling music fading into the background as your thoughts churned. Whatever game Lucian was playing, you knew one thing for certain: you would not be a willing pawn.

The crimson curtains rose, and the performance began. But your attention, much to your dismay, remained tethered to the man seated beside you, his presence as inescapable as the story unfolding on the stage below.



───────── ⟡ 𝜗𝜚 ‧ ⁺ ⊰ ─────────



The play unfolded as a tale of tragic love, a symphony of longing and sacrifice that crescendoed into despair. On stage, the actors wove their story with precision, their voices trembling with emotion as they moved through an intricately choreographed dance of devotion and destruction. The audience was spellbound, their gazes fixed on the doomed lovers as they clung to each other in defiance of fate.

Yet, for you, the world beyond the stage began to blur.

The grandeur of the theatre—the gilded balcony, the painted constellations on the domed ceiling, the flickering light of chandeliers—faded into insignificance. Even the story, rich with themes of love and ruin, became distant, a mere hum at the edges of your awareness. Your gaze fell to your lap, where your hands rested against the midnight fabric of your gown. The crystalline embroidery shimmered faintly, catching the soft light, but your fingers tightened against it, as though grasping at something slipping through your grasp.

"What are you thinking?"

Lucian's voice broke through the haze, its calm, measured tone cutting like a blade through silk. You started slightly, unwilling to look at him. Even without glancing in his direction, you could feel the weight of his gaze, sharp and probing, fixed on you with an intensity that was impossible to ignore.

You hesitated, your lips parting before the words would come. "That the story is too familiar."

There was a brief pause, then a subtle arch of his brow. "How so?"

Your pulse quickened, and you turned your attention to the stage, searching for an answer that wouldn't betray the truth churning inside you. But before you could speak, he moved.

Lucian reached for your hand, his fingers brushing against yours in a gesture that was as startling as it was deliberate. The contact was brief yet disarming, a disruption that sent a ripple through the careful composure you had built around yourself. And then, the world tilted.

The theatre, the audience, the stage—they melted away, replaced by a warmth that wrapped around you like a comforting embrace. Suddenly, you were elsewhere.

The scent of fresh bread mingled with the earthy sweetness of wildflowers, the air thick with the kind of peace that seemed to belong to a different world entirely. Sunlight streamed through the open window of a small cottage, dappling the wooden floor in soft, golden light. The gentle hum of a melody reached your ears, soothing and familiar, though the tune remained just out of reach.

Your gaze dropped to the table before you, where a pair of hands worked the dough with a quiet rhythm. They were strong, weathered hands—hands that spoke of years of labour and care. Your eyes lingered on them, drawn to the simple beauty of their movements, and then, as if compelled, you looked up.

Soft, steady eyes met yours. They held no judgment, no malice, only a quiet intensity that seemed to see through every wall you'd ever built. It wasn't a gaze of calculation or curiosity, but one of trust, of something far deeper than words could capture. And for a fleeting moment, the weight of your burdens lifted, replaced by something achingly close to peace.

The vision shattered as abruptly as it had begun.

You were back in the theatre, the sound of applause thundering around you like a storm. Your chest heaved with a breath you hadn't realised you were holding, and your hand trembled beneath Lucian's touch. The warmth of his fingers was no longer comforting but searing, a reminder of the fragility of the moment you'd just lost. You pulled away sharply, cradling your hand to your chest as though burned.

Lucian's gaze was steady, though his expression was carefully neutral. "Are you unwell?" he asked, his tone smooth, betraying only the faintest flicker of curiosity.

"I'm fine," you said quickly, though your voice wavered. The words were brittle, and hollow, and you hated how transparent they sounded. "The air in here is stifling. That's all."

Lucian's eyes lingered on you for a moment longer, their emerald depths searching for something you weren't willing to reveal. But, to your relief, he didn't press the matter. His attention shifted back to the stage, his composure as unshaken as ever, though you felt the weight of his awareness still tethered to you.

You turned away, gripping the edge of your seat until your knuckles ached, the steady thunder of your heartbeat filling your ears. The flicker of the vision—the warmth of the sunlight, the melody, those eyes—lingered in the corners of your mind like an echo, haunting and unrelenting. You swallowed against the tightness in your throat, willing the memory to fade, but it clung to you like a phantom.

Onstage, the play reached its climax, the lovers falling together in an embrace of ultimate sacrifice. Their voices, thick with anguish, filled the theatre, drawing gasps and tears from the audience. But you felt none of it. The tragedy on the stage was nothing compared to the weight of the memories stirring within you, fragments of a life you couldn't quite place, a truth you were too afraid to face.



✧ ࣪⊹˖ 𝓔𝐍𝐃 𝓞𝐅 𝓒𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝓣𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄 𝜗𝜚˚⋆



𝓣𝐇𝐄 𝓥𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝓘𝐒 𝓣𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃!

𝘺𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦! 𝘷𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘹 𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴! 𝘧𝘦𝘮. 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━



━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝜗𝜚 ✧𓆪 ‧₊˚⊹

𝓒𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝓢𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 ﹕unedited !



Not a super long chapter, but I've had writer's block lately and just wanted to publish something, so I adjusted one of my drafts. Starting now, there will be more hints about MC's past lives.