The candlelight shivered, throwing dancing shadows that clung to the hollows of her face. She stood before us, a woman forged from the wilderness, clad in a huntsman’s green tunic and worn brown trousers. A mane of untamed chestnut hair fell around a face that held the startling smoothness of youth, a face that couldn’t have seen more than thirty-five winters. But it was the ears, the elegantly pointed tips peeking from beneath a sheer, concealing cloth, that covered her eyes. Her. A treacherous wave of hope surged through my veins.

Her tongue clicked, a sound as sharp as striking flint. “You carry a powerful curse,” she declared, her voice a low resonance that seemed to hum with the ancient knowledge of the earth itself. “I can smell the rot of it, a pungent decay clinging to your very soul.”

“Yes,” I breathed, my own voice a ghost in the stillness.

“Then you must come in,” she insisted, her stooped shoulders, burdened by more than just years, receding as she stepped back. Cassius sealed the heavy oak door behind us, plunging us into the cottage’s dim, flickering heart.

“Follow me,” she commanded, her voice softening as her fingers, like questing roots, traced a path along the cool, damp stone. The cottage was a paradox of pristine cleanliness and the gentle erosion of time. Every surface was scrubbed, yet every piece of furniture bore the deep scars of use. A great, empty hearth, fronted by a thick bear-skin rug, promised a warmth that now lay dormant. She led us past a sagging, well-worn couch and into a cozy kitchen dominated by a small, round wooden table and four sturdy stools. I lifted a basket brimming with strange, vibrant fruits from one of the stools, their unfamiliar scent filling the air.

“Please,” she gestured, her tone a fragile blend of warmth and profound weariness. As I sat, the sheer, disarming ordinariness of the place settled over me, a stark contrast to the fantastical lair I had braced myself for. And her eyes, hidden behind that veil… that was a detail my overactive imagination had utterly failed to conjure.

“I will prepare some tea,” she announced, her movements fluid and certain, a testament to a life lived in darkness. “You have traveled far.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” I found myself replying, my gaze tethered to her every move.

With a practiced grace, she knelt and coaxed a fire to life in the hearth, a shower of brilliant sparks heralding its fiery birth. A blackened kettle was soon suspended over the hungry, growing flames. “It won’t be long,” she promised, her hands questing for cups in a nearby cupboard.

“Can I help you?” I offered, the words leaving my lips before I could stop them.

A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “No, no. You are a guest. Please, rest. It has been a long while since I have had company.”

Her fingers found two ceramic cups, a slight fumble betraying her as she set them on the counter. “I am Seraphiel Aethel,” she said, turning to face us, a cup held in her delicate hands. “And you are?”

“Thalia Cevrean,” I answered.

She started towards us, but my eyes darted to Cassius. His voice was a low, unnerving calm. “I am Cassius Glimoak.”

Seraphiel froze mid-stride. The cup slipped from her grasp, not just breaking, but exploding against the stone floor in a spray of ceramic shrapnel. The sound was stark in the sudden, ringing silence. A violent tremor seized her hands.

Cassius’s jaw was a granite cliff, his gaze fixed on her with an emotion I couldn’t decipher. Pity? Regret?

“Let me help you,” I offered, rising from my stool.

She remained a statue carved from trembling stone.

“Give her a moment,” Cassius murmured, his voice a low warning.

But before the words had fully settled, her frozen demeanor shattered. “Stay back,” she snarled, a guttural sound that made me flinch away, the shards of the cup grinding beneath my boots. The weary woman of moments ago had vanished, replaced by a towering, rigid figure, her voice dripping with a venom that had been brewing for an age.

“I never thought I would hear that name again,” she hissed, her tone hardening to tempered steel. “Tell me, why has the ‘little prince’ of Aelindoria decided to seek me out?”

Cassius’s voice softened, a stark contrast to his rigid posture. My eyes darted between them as he chose his next words with the care. “I have a curse. I need your—”

A harsh, mocking laugh ripped through the air, cutting him off. “And what,” she purred, “could possibly make you think that a ‘lowly, banished elf’ would ever help the ‘righteous little prince’ of Aelindoria? I wouldn’t want to get my filth on your pristine, royal hands.”

Cassius shifted, his discomfort a palpable aura in the small room. “My title makes me no different than any other elf.”

“Liar,” she spat. Her hand slammed down on the table with a crack that echoed the shattering of the cup, making me jump. “That isn’t what your people screamed when they cast me out.” She leaned over the table, her face inches from his. Cassius recoiled as if she had physically struck him.

Seraphiel’s jaw was a knot of pure fury, but a cruel, knowing grin slowly twisted her lips. “Still… I can’t begin to imagine what a ‘perfect’ prince could have possibly done to earn a curse.” She straightened, turning her back on us as if dismissing his very existence.

“Seraphiel,” Cassius pleaded, his voice cracking under the weight of her scorn. “I was only a child. I swear I knew nothing of what transpired.”

She whirled on him, tears streaming from beneath the cloth, carving glistening tracks through the grime on her cheeks. “None of you did! You all stood by, silent and complicit, while I was cast out for a crime I did not commit. So tell me, little prince, is that fair?” Her voice rose to a crescendo, echoing in the rafters. “Would you help the son of the man who condemned you to a life of exile and darkness?”

Cassius flinched, the words striking him with the force of a physical blow. He was rendered speechless.

An instinct I didn’t understand pulled me to my feet. “Seraphiel,” I murmured, closing the distance between us. “I can’t pretend to imagine your pain.” I reached out, my hand hovering for a moment before gently touching her shoulder. She recoiled as if burned, her entire body going rigid. I let my arm fall to my side and retreated to my seat, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

Cassius gathered himself, his expression shifting from desperation to a steely resolve. “Then tell us your story,” he said, his voice no longer a request, but a quiet command.

“And what good would that do?” she whispered, the fight seeming to drain from her in a sudden rush. “What’s done is done. Aelindoria will never welcome me back.”

“You are mistaken,” Cassius stated, his voice ringing with an authority I hadn’t heard in a long, long time. “The king can.”

The declaration hung in the air, a fragile bridge between two shattered worlds. Defeated, she sank onto a nearby stool, burying her face in her hands. Her question was a muffled, broken breath. “Why should I trust you?”

I leaned forward, my own voice a near whisper. “Because we’re the only ones offering to listen.”

Seraphiel lifted her head, her veiled eyes, now shadowed with a profound sorrow, fixed on us. “Very well,” she said, a hard edge of defiance returning to her voice. “I will share my story. But when it is done, I will decide if I help you. And be assured, my help never comes free.”

A silent understanding, a shared burden, passed between Cassius and me.

“We accept your terms,” Cassius said, his voice firm and unwavering.

“Okay,” she sighed, the single word heavy with the weight of her exhaustion. “But it’s late. I’ll clean this mess. You two, light the fire and find a place to rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”

We rose, the unspoken tension still crackling in the air. “Thank you, Seraphiel,” I managed.

Cassius echoed the sentiment, his voice low and somber. “Thank you.”

With a final, weary nod, she turned away. We retreated to the living room, the darkness pressing in on us.

“I’ll start the fire,” Cassius murmured, his voice a low rumble as he knelt, flint and stone in hand.

I sank to the floor, the rough carpet a welcome, grounding sensation against my cheek. I watched him coax a flame to life, the nascent firelight pushing back the encroaching chill, but a different, deeper cold had already settled in my bones. I curled into a tight ball, the day’s events flickering behind my eyelids—Seraphiel’s voice, a blade of raw fury wrapped in the silk of anguish. Had the elves truly condemned an innocent soul? I glanced at Cassius, his profile a stark, chiseled silhouette in the unsteady light, his gaze lost in the hypnotic dance of the flames. An eerie, profound silence settled between us.

What story could be so terrible? And what price would it demand of us in the morning’s light? Sleep, I knew, would be a long and elusive stranger tonight.