A curse on love and my life

Chapter One

By Sally.EL

Some loves do not end when they are abandoned—

they wait, patient and cruel, until fate decides to reopen the wound.

Blurred memories of a face far too familiar haunted her mind.

A face she had tried to erase, yet it returned without mercy.

Was that the only true love she had ever known?

Words echoed in the darkness of her thoughts—words that felt painfully alive.

A voice she recognized even after years of silence.

“Emma… my Emma. Don’t cry.”

She woke up suddenly, her breath sharp and uneven, her heart weighed down by something she could not name.

The dream had not been cruel, nor had it been gentle.

It was worse—it was intimate.

As if the past had leaned close and whispered her name.

Her body trembled.

Her forehead glistened with sweat, as though she had been sleeping beneath heavy rain.

Emma sat at the edge of her narrow bed, pressing a hand against her chest, trying to steady the storm inside her.

She had survived seven years without him.

Seven years of silence.

Seven years of pretending the memories no longer mattered.

Yet one dream was enough to undo her.

She forced herself to stand.

In her small, unforgiving world, there was no room for weakness.

It did not matter whether she had slept peacefully or woken shattered—

what mattered was work.

She slipped into a simple dress, worn thin by time and labor, and stepped outside.

The village greeted her as it always did: quiet, indifferent, unchanged.

Her path led her to the small bakery where she had worked for years.

The smell of bread, the heat of the ovens—

a routine carved into her bones.

The same life she had lived for seven years.

She baked through the early hours, then walked to the fields once the sun climbed higher.

Planting. Harvesting. Enduring.

Her hands were rough, scarred by honest labor—

hands that had never known silk or jewels.

She was no princess.

Not even a noblewoman.

Just a common woman shaped by hardship and restraint.

As she returned to the bakery to deliver the bread, Mrs. Baker approached her.

The older woman’s face was pale, her hands unsteady—fear unmistakable in her eyes.

“Emma,” she said quietly, “there is… something for you.”

Emma frowned. “For me?”

Mrs. Baker nodded and held out a sealed parchment.

The emblem pressed into the wax made Emma’s breath catch.

A royal seal.

The bakery fell silent.

Whispers spread like fire.

“An invitation?”

“For her?”

“She’s just a common woman.”

“She must be involved with a nobleman.”

“No one from the palace notices women like her without reason.”

Emma’s chest tightened.

Heat rose to her face—not from shame, but anger.

“I know no nobleman,” she said firmly.

“And I belong to no one.”

But suspicion was louder than truth.

With shaking fingers, she broke the seal and unfolded the parchment.

The words were cold. Formal. Merciless.

A summons to appear at the Imperial Palace in the capital.

Attendance is mandatory.

No explanation will be provided.

Her vision blurred.

The palace.

A place she had never stepped into—

and yet one her soul seemed to recognize all too well.

That night, Emma packed what little she owned.

A spare dress.

Worn shoes.

A heart burdened with questions she feared to answer.

At dawn, she left the village behind.

Behind the whispers.

Behind the accusations.

Behind the fragile peace she had built with trembling hands.

Ahead of her lay the capital.

The Imperial Palace.

And a summons that felt less like an invitation and more like a sentence.

As the carriage rolled forward, her chest tightened painfully.

Memories rose against her will.

Not innocent memories.

Forbidden ones.

Moments she had buried so deeply she had sworn they no longer existed.

Touches remembered only by the skin.

Promises whispered when the world was small and cruel dreams still felt distant.

She closed her eyes and shook her head.

“No,” she whispered. “I won’t remember.”

That person—

the one she refused to name.

The one who had taken her innocence and left her with silence.

The one who had been her love… and her ruin.

She would not give him a name again.

Not here.

Not now.

Yet her heart betrayed her.

It beat faster with every mile closer to the capital,

as though it already knew the truth she was too afraid to face.

What awaited her was not merely a palace.

It was not merely a summons.

It was the return of a curse—

one written long ago in love,

sealed in sacrifice,

and stained with blood.

A Curse on Love and My Life

Chapter One

By Sally.EL

Some loves do not end when they are abandoned—

they wait, patient and cruel, until fate decides to reopen the wound.

Blurred memories of a face far too familiar haunted her mind.

A face she had tried to erase, yet it returned without mercy.

Was that the only true love she had ever known?

Words echoed in the darkness of her thoughts—words that felt painfully alive.

A voice she recognized even after years of silence.

“Emma… my Emma. Don’t cry.”

She woke up suddenly, her breath sharp and uneven, her heart weighed down by something she could not name.

The dream had not been cruel, nor had it been gentle.

It was worse—it was intimate.

As if the past had leaned close and whispered her name.

Her body trembled.

Her forehead glistened with sweat, as though she had been sleeping beneath heavy rain.

Emma sat at the edge of her narrow bed, pressing a hand against her chest, trying to steady the storm inside her.

She had survived seven years without him.

Seven years of silence.

Seven years of pretending the memories no longer mattered.

Yet one dream was enough to undo her.

She forced herself to stand.

In her small, unforgiving world, there was no room for weakness.

It did not matter whether she had slept peacefully or woken shattered—

what mattered was work.

She slipped into a simple dress, worn thin by time and labor, and stepped outside.

The village greeted her as it always did: quiet, indifferent, unchanged.

Her path led her to the small bakery where she had worked for years.

The smell of bread, the heat of the ovens—

a routine carved into her bones.

The same life she had lived for seven years.

She baked through the early hours, then walked to the fields once the sun climbed higher.

Planting. Harvesting. Enduring.

Her hands were rough, scarred by honest labor—

hands that had never known silk or jewels.

She was no princess.

Not even a noblewoman.

Just a common woman shaped by hardship and restraint.

As she returned to the bakery to deliver the bread, Mrs. Baker approached her.

The older woman’s face was pale, her hands unsteady—fear unmistakable in her eyes.

“Emma,” she said quietly, “there is… something for you.”

Emma frowned. “For me?”

Mrs. Baker nodded and held out a sealed parchment.

The emblem pressed into the wax made Emma’s breath catch.

A royal seal.

The bakery fell silent.

Whispers spread like fire.

“An invitation?”

“For her?”

“She’s just a common woman.”

“She must be involved with a nobleman.”

“No one from the palace notices women like her without reason.”

Emma’s chest tightened.

Heat rose to her face—not from shame, but anger.

“I know no nobleman,” she said firmly.

“And I belong to no one.”

But suspicion was louder than truth.

With shaking fingers, she broke the seal and unfolded the parchment.

The words were cold. Formal. Merciless.

A summons to appear at the Imperial Palace in the capital.

Attendance is mandatory.

No explanation will be provided.

Her vision blurred.

The palace.

A place she had never stepped into—

and yet one her soul seemed to recognize all too well.

That night, Emma packed what little she owned.

A spare dress.

Worn shoes.

A heart burdened with questions she feared to answer.

At dawn, she left the village behind.

Behind the whispers.

Behind the accusations.

Behind the fragile peace she had built with trembling hands.

Ahead of her lay the capital.

The Imperial Palace.

And a summons that felt less like an invitation and more like a sentence.

As the carriage rolled forward, her chest tightened painfully.

Memories rose against her will.

Not innocent memories.

Forbidden ones.

Moments she had buried so deeply she had sworn they no longer existed.

Touches remembered only by the skin.

Promises whispered when the world was small and cruel dreams still felt distant.

She closed her eyes and shook her head.

“No,” she whispered. “I won’t remember.”

That person—

the one she refused to name.

The one who had taken her innocence and left her with silence.

The one who had been her love… and her ruin.

She would not give him a name again.

Not here.

Not now.

Yet her heart betrayed her.

It beat faster with every mile closer to the capital,

as though it already knew the truth she was too afraid to face.

What awaited her was not merely a palace.

It was not merely a summons.

It was the return of a curse—

one written long ago in love,

sealed in sacrifice,

and stained with blood.

A Curse on Love and My Life

Chapter One

By Sally.EL

Some loves do not end when they are abandoned—

they wait, patient and cruel, until fate decides to reopen the wound.

Blurred memories of a face far too familiar haunted her mind.

A face she had tried to erase, yet it returned without mercy.

Was that the only true love she had ever known?

Words echoed in the darkness of her thoughts—words that felt painfully alive.

A voice she recognized even after years of silence.

“Emma… my Emma. Don’t cry.”

She woke up suddenly, her breath sharp and uneven, her heart weighed down by something she could not name.

The dream had not been cruel, nor had it been gentle.

It was worse—it was intimate.

As if the past had leaned close and whispered her name.

Her body trembled.

Her forehead glistened with sweat, as though she had been sleeping beneath heavy rain.

Emma sat at the edge of her narrow bed, pressing a hand against her chest, trying to steady the storm inside her.

She had survived seven years without him.

Seven years of silence.

Seven years of pretending the memories no longer mattered.

Yet one dream was enough to undo her.

She forced herself to stand.

In her small, unforgiving world, there was no room for weakness.

It did not matter whether she had slept peacefully or woken shattered—

what mattered was work.

She slipped into a simple dress, worn thin by time and labor, and stepped outside.

The village greeted her as it always did: quiet, indifferent, unchanged.

Her path led her to the small bakery where she had worked for years.

The smell of bread, the heat of the ovens—

a routine carved into her bones.

The same life she had lived for seven years.

She baked through the early hours, then walked to the fields once the sun climbed higher.

Planting. Harvesting. Enduring.

Her hands were rough, scarred by honest labor—

hands that had never known silk or jewels.

She was no princess.

Not even a noblewoman.

Just a common woman shaped by hardship and restraint.

As she returned to the bakery to deliver the bread, Mrs. Baker approached her.

The older woman’s face was pale, her hands unsteady—fear unmistakable in her eyes.

“Emma,” she said quietly, “there is… something for you.”

Emma frowned. “For me?”

Mrs. Baker nodded and held out a sealed parchment.

The emblem pressed into the wax made Emma’s breath catch.

A royal seal.

The bakery fell silent.

Whispers spread like fire.

“An invitation?”

“For her?”

“She’s just a common woman.”

“She must be involved with a nobleman.”

“No one from the palace notices women like her without reason.”

Emma’s chest tightened.

Heat rose to her face—not from shame, but anger.

“I know no nobleman,” she said firmly.

“And I belong to no one.”

But suspicion was louder than truth.

With shaking fingers, she broke the seal and unfolded the parchment.

The words were cold. Formal. Merciless.

A summons to appear at the Imperial Palace in the capital.

Attendance is mandatory.

No explanation will be provided.

Her vision blurred.

The palace.

A place she had never stepped into—

and yet one her soul seemed to recognize all too well.

That night, Emma packed what little she owned.

A spare dress.

Worn shoes.

A heart burdened with questions she feared to answer.

At dawn, she left the village behind.

Behind the whispers.

Behind the accusations.

Behind the fragile peace she had built with trembling hands.

Ahead of her lay the capital.

The Imperial Palace.

And a summons that felt less like an invitation and more like a sentence.

As the carriage rolled forward, her chest tightened painfully.

Memories rose against her will.

Not innocent memories.

Forbidden ones.

Moments she had buried so deeply she had sworn they no longer existed.

Touches remembered only by the skin.

Promises whispered when the world was small and cruel dreams still felt distant.

She closed her eyes and shook her head.

“No,” she whispered. “I won’t remember.”

That person—

the one she refused to name.

The one who had taken her innocence and left her with silence.

The one who had been her love… and her ruin.

She would not give him a name again.

Not here.

Not now.

Yet her heart betrayed her.

It beat faster with every mile closer to the capital,

as though it already knew the truth she was too afraid to face.

What awaited her was not merely a palace.

It was not merely a summons.

It was the return of a curse—

one written long ago in love,

sealed in sacrifice,

and stained with blood.