The Crimson Snowfield
The biting wind whipped Princess Elara’s cloak around her, a cruel reminder of the biting chill that mirrored her own heart.
E.g. ：The Night A Single Punch Exposed Dad's Dark Past, Shattering Our Family Forever.
- 1、The Crimson Snowfield
- 2、A Glimmer of Recognition
- 3、The Whispers of a Curse
- 4、A Desperate Plea
- 5、The Weight of Kingdoms
- 6、An Impossible Choice
- 7、A Vow in the Snow
Her morning ride was meant to clear her mind, not plunge it deeper into the melancholic shadows of her impending duty.
Tomorrow, Prince Peter of Eldoria would arrive, and with him, the final preparations for their arranged marriage.
A union forged for peace between two powerful kingdoms, a pact she carried with the weight of her future.
She liked Peter well enough, his charm a gentle current beneath his reserved demeanor, but affection was a poor substitute for true love, a luxury rarely afforded to princesses.
Suddenly, a dark, motionless mass marred the pristine expanse of the snow-covered forest floor.
Curiosity, a spark of defiance against her usual composure, tugged at her reins.
She dismounted, her boots crunching softly on the frozen crust.
It was a wolf, impossibly large, its fur a tangled mess of black and crimson.
A ghastly stain of blood bloomed beneath it, dyeing the snow a shocking, vibrant red that stretched for yards.
Her breath hitched, a gasp escaping her lips at the gruesome sight.
Yet, despite the terror coiling in her gut, she felt an inexplicable pull towards the fallen creature.
It was still breathing, shallow, ragged gasps that misted the frigid air.
A Glimmer of Recognition
Fear warred with a primal instinct to help, an ancient empathy stirring within her.
This was no ordinary beast, not with such an aura of silent, profound suffering.
As she cautiously approached, the wolf’s head weakly lifted.
Its eyes, a deep, intelligent gold, met hers.
They held not the wildness of an animal, but a flicker of something profoundly human, a desperate plea that pierced her very soul.
"Easy now," she whispered, her voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor in her hands.
She pulled a linen strip from her satchel, a practical habit from her childhood nurse’s lessons.
Kneeling beside the monstrous form, the cold seeping through her thick gown, she began to tend to its grievous wounds.
The scent of iron and pine filled the air, acrid and raw.
Her fingers, numb with cold and dread, carefully probed beneath its matted fur, searching for the source of the terrible bleeding.
Beneath the wolf’s heavy, still paw, her hand brushed against something cold and unyielding.
It was metallic, small, and intricately crafted.
A silver pocket watch.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence of the forest.
She knew this watch.
Peter.
He had given it to her on her last birthday, a gift of surprising sentimentality for their calculated courtship.
Her fingers fumbled with the clasp, her eyes wide with a dawning horror she couldn't yet comprehend.
The tiny silver door sprang open with a soft click.
Inside, nestled in the delicate casing, was a faded, miniature photograph.
Herself.
Smiling, youthful, radiant.
And beside her, strong and reassuring, was Peter.
His eyes, in the tiny image, were the same startling shade of gold as the wolf’s now watching her.
The realization hit her like a physical blow, a freezing wave of disbelief and terror.
This was no mere wolf.
This was Peter.
The Whispers of a Curse
Her mind reeled, a whirlwind of impossible connections.
Peter.
Cursed.
Transformed.
Suddenly, fragmented memories, dismissed as ancient folklore, clawed their way back to her consciousness.
Whispers of the Eldorian royal line, of an old magic, a beastly curse that slumbered within their blood.
A secret carefully guarded, ridiculed by her own kingdom as superstitious nonsense.
Peter himself, during one of their stilted garden walks, had once spoken of a "family burden."
He had described it with a fleeting shadow in his golden eyes, a weight she hadn't understood then.
He'd mentioned "darkest nights" and "a ravenous hunger," words she’d taken as poetic melancholy, not literal terror.
He’d also spoken of his "solitary quests," disappearing for days without explanation, returning with a strained, haunted look.
Now, every cryptic remark, every distant gaze, every unexplained absence, clicked into a horrifying mosaic of truth.
He hadn’t been hunting or meditating.
He had been fighting this.
Fighting himself.
And he had failed.
The snow beneath her seemed to grow colder, the silence of the forest more profound, more menacing.
A Desperate Plea
Why here?
Why now?
His transformation had clearly been violent, agonizing.
The blood was evidence not just of wounds, but of a desperate, losing battle against something monstrous within.
But the watch… the pocket watch was a deliberate act.
It was too specific, too personal to be accidental.
He had placed it there, beneath his paw, hoping she would find it.
It was a silent scream, a coded message from the depths of his cursed form.
He couldn't speak, couldn't explain.
But he could leave a trace, a desperate breadcrumb for the one person who might understand.
For her.
