The Princess' Curse

The Whispering Market

It was a usual winter morning in the village of Vanpar, wrapped in thick fog. Dew clung to the grass, sparkling faintly in the pale light as the village slowly stirred awake.

Leandra rose early, dressed quickly, and headed to the market to buy groceries. She wore a pale blue skirt, a baby-blue T-shirt, and her old black jacket—the one that had weathered so many winters it had faded into a tired grey.

The market was already alive when she arrived. Merchants called out their wares, carts creaked over stone, and the sharp scent of hay filled the air. Near the entrance, horses were being brought in for sale. Leandra paused, watching them with mild curiosity. She normally had no interest in horses, yet something about the black one standing quietly at the center caught her attention.

It stood still amid the noise, calm and watchful. For a brief moment, Leandra had the unsettling feeling that it was watching her.

She shook off the thought and moved deeper into the market. As she passed a row of small shops, a sudden burst of noise erupted from one of them—raised voices, hurried movement. Curious, she stepped closer.

That was when she heard it.

A tiny, faint voice whispered from the corner of the shop.

Leandra turned toward the sound—and froze.

A small creature stood there, wrapped carefully in a worn cloth, as though someone had tried to hide it in plain sight.

When it realized she had seen it, the creature motioned for her to come closer, bobbing its head and waving its small forelimbs. Leandra hesitated. Every sensible part of her told her to walk away, yet an odd pull urged her forward.

As she stepped closer, the truth settled in.

It was a turtle.

A turtle wrapped in cloth.

Leandra blinked, certain she had wandered into a dream.

“Save me,” the turtle whispered.

She stared, too stunned to respond. When it repeated the words, they sounded less like a plea and more like a command.

“Who are you?” Leandra finally asked.

“Help me first,” the turtle replied calmly. “Then I’ll explain everything.”

Leandra glanced around the market. Strangely, no one seemed to notice. Merchants bargained, customers laughed, and feet hurried past as if nothing unusual stood at her feet.

The turtle urged her again, its dark eyes fixed on hers.

Leandra realized she had to choose—walk away, or help.

“How can I help you?” she asked quietly. “You seem free already. What’s stopping you?”

The turtle gave her a sharp look, as though she had asked something obvious.

“If I start moving now,” it said, “it would take me all day just to leave this place. If you carry me, I’ll be freed easily.”

“Okay,” Leandra said, feeling oddly scolded.

She bent down and picked up the turtle. The moment her hands touched its shell, a shiver ran down her spine. She tried to ignore the sensation as she stepped out of the shop and back into the fog-filled street of the market—unaware that she had just crossed a line she would never return from.

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