The crumbling castle holds the chill of the approaching autumn but the shivering stones and unlit candles do not hinder Daehyun for he is as cold and empty as his former home. With a single push, the doors of the throne room groan open, protesting to the movement of their rusted hinges. The once-glittering space spreads dully before him and on his throne sits the woman of his demise.

She watches him approach, a small laugh tucked into the corner of her cheek. The echo of his footsteps lingers a moment too long after he halts before her. He glowers at this hated woman-this witch-and must clench his hands to hold back his tears. 

Daehyun bites down on the inside of his cheek and slowly kneels down to the stone. He remains motionless, waiting for her to speak. The stones are unforgiving to his knees and he shifts slightly to relieve some of the pressure. This does not go unnoticed by her.

“Not used to kneeling, are you, my prince?” Her voice is as frigid as the longest night of winter and Daehyun cannot stop the shiver that slips down his spine. 

Daehyun keeps silent and waits.

“Why have you come here?”

“Please,” his voice breaks and he breathes through his nose to keep his composure. “Please, bring her back.”

A low chuckle slithers from between her teeth. “I cannot. What’s done cannot be undone. The Dark Magic is final and you know that.”

“You lied.” Daehyun’s voice trembles with the bubbling rage that replaces