I nod, a solemn expression taking over my face. “You did.”
“Did… did you love me?”
I grind my teeth to keep my composure from breaking. “I do.”
“Am… am I who you fell in love with? The woman you told me died when I first started asking you questions?”
I nod.
“What happened?”
I let out a weary sigh.
“Please, Braxton. I just want the truth. Am I really asking for that much?”
If she only knew that by asking for the truth, she’s actually asking me for the biggest sacrifice of all.
It’s too late now, though. I know that even if she doesn’t yet. The process of restarting the curse has already begun. If she’s starting to remember, then soon I’ll lose one more petal on the decaying flower that is this withering curse.
So, I give in, knowing that if I don’t tell her the truth, she’ll just torment herself until her memories fully come back, and I can’t watch her do that again. I’ve played this out a hundred different ways, and no matter what I do, I can’t make this part any less painful for her.
Every time she comes too close to the truth, everything starts over, and she believes it’s her first day in the castle all over again. That is, she believes it’s her first day in the castle after I’ve comeand snatched her from her home and family. That’s the biggest fabrication of this entire curse. I never dragged her to this castle as a prisoner. I built this castle for her, as my wife.
“The truth is you weren’t the only person cursed. In fact, the magic that binds you to this castle isn’t your curse at all. It’s mine.”
29
Braxton
“WhatdoyoumeanI’m not the one that’s cursed?” Azalea’s eyes flash with indignation. “I’m the one who’s trapped in this skyforsaken castle. I’m the one who isn’t allowed to leave these grounds. I’m the one who’s been ripped away from my family.”
“I’myour family,” I nearly growl, my emotions beginning to spill past the mask I’ve worked so hard to create.
She curls her lip at me, her expression speaking volumes more than words ever could. I’m not her family. Not anymore, at least.
“I was your family,” I amend, watching Azalea soften at the gentleness in my tone.
“What happened, Braxton?”
I let out a heavy sigh, wishing I didn’t have to tell this story again. The first handful of times she started remembering, when the curse was still fresh, I tried to push off this inevitable moment. I learned quickly that the moment any of her memories start resurfacing, it’s too late. Once she finds out too much and it spurs her to remember even the smallest of details, the curse starts over.
I momentarily wonder if this wouldn’t be so hard if it wasn’t something I’ve had to explain to her an uncountable amount of times. If it wasn’t something I had to relive with her over and over again. If it wasn’t something I had to watch break her again and again. My sweet, strong Wildflower.
As I tell her the truth, her memories will begin to break through the magical barrier in her mind, and this resurfacing will cause her immense physical and emotional pain. Worst of all, she’ll endure all of that and take every ounce of this torture in stride, only for her to forget everything the moment she goes to sleep. Then, we start it all over again. I will wake up to her hating me fresh as the first day this curse started.
My curse is that to save the person I love the most in this entire world, I have to endure them despising my very existence every single day and having no recollection of the wonder that we once were, for the rest of our lives. And since we are bound by magic, our lives have continued for close to a century now. The curse that envelopes this castle, keeping out disease, people, animals, and even untimely weather, also prevents us from aging.
“You died,” I say it plainly, feeling the constriction in my chest as I’m forced to face the truth once again.
My mind takes me back to that dreadful day when I watched her life slowly fade away, her blood coating my hands, staining them with a shade of scarlet that will never fully wash off. I flex my fingers at my side. I can remember exactly what it felt like to hold her until her body went limp against me. Her chest stopped moving. Her heart stopped thrumming against my palm. Her fingers went slack in my hand as I clutched her close. The all-consuming feeling of helplessness still rattles me to my core.
“What?” Azalea croaks.
“You died. In my arms, covered in blood, and I couldn’t do anything to save you.”
“So… how am I here?” She shakes her head back and forth.
Her hand reaches up, and she begins rubbing her fingers back and forth across her lips as she tries to process this revelation. Finally, she looks up at me, her eyes a mixture of curiosity and despair, screaming the question she can’t voice at me.
