Chapter 24 : the forbidden princess

Once, Lara’s world had been as radiant as the gold of her eyes. She was a princess of Center Geneva, daughter of a king and queen beloved by all. The streets bloomed with festivals, the people raised songs in their honor, and laughter filled the castle walls. Lara believed nothing could touch her happiness.
But something was wrong with her mother.
The Queen’s beauty was flawless, her kindness unmatched, yet upon her left cheek lay a faint mark, like ink pressed into her skin: the number 2. Only Lara saw it. Not her father, not the court, not the people who adored her. When she asked, her mother would only smile, her eyes shadowed with sadness.
Then came the sickness.
The Queen withered before Lara’s eyes, her body consumed by fevers that no healer could cure. At night, she spoke in riddles of other lives, of death before birth, of reincarnation. “I should not be here, little one, I miss my real family” she whispered, clutching Lara’s hand with frail fingers. “ I want them not this… I wanna see them again not you two, leave me alone ” she shouted, the king at Lara started to get used to that so they exited her room, “I'll return soon… I must leave again.”
Lara always begged her not to speak so, but no plea could stop death’s march. Day by day, her mother faded, until one morning she was gone.
The kingdom mourned, but the King did not recover.
Grief hollowed him. His crown grew heavy, his eyes dimmed, and the warmth that once filled his embrace was gone. He no longer looked at his daughter. He no longer ruled his people. The kingdom that had once glowed with joy turned cold and empty, as families left their homes in silence.
The King, broken, turned to whispers. To forbidden tomes. To dark magic.
He swore to bring his Queen back, no matter the cost. And when the darkness began to consume him, he dragged Lara into it.
“You will learn,” he told her, thrusting grimoires into her hands. “You will help me.”
She was still a child, but she obeyed out of fear—and out of the faint, desperate hope that maybe if her father succeeded, they could be happy again. But each ritual carved away at the man he had been. His flesh withered, his armor grew black as night, until he resembled less a king and more a knight of death.
Lara could endure no more. She fled.
One night, barefoot and shaking, she slipped beyond the gates, carrying only one of her mother’s coat . She thought freedom had found her—until hoofbeats thundered behind her. Her father came for her, cloaked in steel and shadow, his eyes burning with a lifeless fire.
He dragged her back without a word and locked her in her chamber.
For days she cried until her voice broke. She prayed her father would come to his senses, that he would look at her and remember the daughter he had once cherished. But when he came, it was not to hold her.
It was to curse her.
She remembered the searing pain as the dots burned into her back, the fire ripping screams from her throat. She remembered looking up at her father with tear-filled eyes, searching for mercy, for sorrow, for anything human. But all she saw was coldness.
The curse marked her, body and soul.
The servants pitied her. They could not bear to watch the little princess suffer any longer. Four of them—brave, loyal, and doomed—made a plan. They smuggled food, whispered of secret tunnels beneath the castle, and swore to give Lara a chance at life.
She trusted them.
And one storm-wrapped night, they carried her from her chamber and led her into the dark.
But the King was not blind.
The knight of death hunted them through the hallways. One by one, the servants fell, their blood staining the walls they had hoped would save her. Lara ran, her body trembling, their screams echoing behind her until silence was all that remained.
Her father mocked her, his voice echoing through the dark corridors where she had once played as a child. Her heart thundered in her chest, her frail little body trembling as he drew closer.
It was then that her power awakened.
The servants, once lifeless, rose at her call and hurled themselves at the King with ferocity, buying Lara enough time to flee down a floor. But when she saw it was not enough, she summoned more—wave after wave of the dead clawing their way back to motion. They gathered into a savage army of the undead, forcing her father back as Lara slipped away from the kingdom forever.
She never forgot their faces. She never forgot their sacrifice.
And though she escaped that night, the curse remained, burning within her as a reminder: she was no longer a princess of light, but the broken child of darkness.
And what she had done in her childhood now repeated itself: a horde of zombies erupted from the snow, tearing into the bandits that stood before them.
Not far away, a figure stood in silence, watching the scene unfold with dark curiosity.