Juliette stared at Elias like a ghost had replaced him.
His gaze was blank. Cold. Not unkind, just… empty.
Like every memory they'd shared had been plucked from his mind like feathers from a dying bird.
The silence between them screamed.
"Elias," she whispered, stepping forward.
He didn't move. Didn't blink.
His voice, when it came, was distant. "I don't know that name."
Juliette's heart clenched.
"No," she gasped. "No, you're lying. You have to remember me."
He flinched slightly at the desperation in her voice. "I... don't. I'm sorry."
Her knees buckled. She sank to the floor, gripping the edge of the ritual circle like it was the only thing keeping her upright. The room spun around her, the walls stretching and shrinking, mocking her with their stillness.
She had done it.
She had severed the bond.
The ritual had worked.
The curse was broken.
But in breaking it... she had broken Elias too.
Outside, the crimson moon began to wane, sliding lower in the sky, its rage softening into the bruised hues of dawn. A new day should have meant victory.
But Juliette felt hollow.
She glanced at Elias again, who was now inspecting the rune-carved wall behind him with mild curiosity. He moved like a stranger. No memory of their long walks through the misty gardens. No haunted smiles over dusty books. No ache in his voice when he told her he never meant to love her.
Nothing.
She had freed herself from the curse. But in doing so, she had lost the only person who had seen her, the real her, beneath the bloodline, beneath the destiny.
The price of freedom.
She stood slowly, every bone aching.
"I need... air," she muttered.
Elias nodded absently, as though she were just another visitor passing through the estate.
As if he hadn't once kissed her like she was oxygen.
Juliette fled the chamber, the cold corridor biting her skin like claws. She pushed past the heavy door, stepping into the pale light of dawn. Fog clung to the earth, curling around the roots of the old trees like secrets whispered too close to the ground.
She wandered toward the lake.
There, she dropped to her knees, stared into the water and barely recognized herself.
Her reflection had changed.
Not in the obvious way. Her features were still her own, her eyes the same shade of haunted. But there was something deeper now. A flicker behind her irises. A ripple in her aura.
She leaned closer.
And the water moved, without wind.
A second face flickered beneath her own.
A woman with ash-pale skin. Long white hair. Eyes burning with crimson fire.
Juliette reeled back in horror.
The First Witch.
The original Armand.
The soul that had haunted her family for centuries.
But she was supposed to be gone.
The ritual was supposed to have broken her hold.
"I severed the tether," Juliette gasped aloud. "I gave up Elias. I gave you what you wanted!"
A cold laugh echoed in her ears, though no one was around.
"You gave up the boy," the voice purred, "but you never gave up your heart. You still long. Still mourn. Still ache. That was the real anchor, child. And now, I am inside you."
Juliette clutched her head, her fingernails digging into her scalp.
"No! No, I broke the curse!"
"You broke a curse," the voice corrected, "not me."
The moon had only been a mirror.
The ritual had severed her connection to Elias, but the darkness had found another way in.
Through her pain.
Through her grief.
Through her love.
She staggered back toward the mansion, rage swirling in her chest like a hurricane.
Elias had lost everything.
And still, the witch had won.
Back inside the estate, the house had changed.
The walls no longer creaked. The whispers had stopped. It was... quiet. Too quiet.
Juliette climbed the grand staircase, one hand trailing along the banister, her legs leaden.
As she reached the landing, she paused. A portrait, her grandmother's, now bore new eyes.
They blinked.
Juliette gasped.
Was she hallucinating?
The silence answered with a chilling breeze that kissed her neck.
She turned and saw Elias.
He was standing in the hallway, watching her.
Still distant. Still blank.
But... watching.
"Do you remember anything?" she asked, voice hoarse.
He hesitated.
"I had a dream," he said finally. "Last night. A girl in red, crying by a lake. She said she loved me. But I didn't know her name."
Juliette's heart twisted.
"That was me," she whispered.
Elias blinked. "I don't think I'm supposed to know you."
She stepped forward, gently brushing her fingers against his wrist. He didn't pull away but he didn't lean in either.
It was like touching a memory that had already died.
She returned to the study alone.
And that's when she found the letter.
It was tucked beneath the floorboard under her grandmother's old desk. Sealed in wax, addressed in looping script: To My Beloved Juliette, For When the Moon Turns You.
Her hands trembled as she opened it.
My darling girl,
If you're reading this, then you've walked the same path I once did. The bloodline always comes full circle.
I tried to outrun it. I fell in love with someone I shouldn't have. And I paid the price, just as you will.
But remember this: love may be the anchor but it's also the key. The witch feeds on pain, not joy. If you want to defeat her... you must remember him.
Even when he forgets you.
That's how you win.
Love is not the weakness. Love is the weapon.
Grandmother Odette
Juliette stared at the letter for a long time.
Then she folded it carefully and tucked it into her coat.
She knew what she had to do.
That night, Juliette found Elias in the greenhouse. He was tending to the moonflowers, the ones that only bloomed under crimson light.
He looked up as she approached.
"Juliette, right?" he asked politely.
She smiled, pain tucked behind her lips. "Yes. That's me."
He nodded. "This place feels familiar. Like I've been here before."
"You have," she said gently.
He tilted his head. "Can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
"Did I... love you?"
Tears pooled in her eyes.
"Yes," she said. "And I loved you."
Elias frowned. "Then why don't I feel it?"
Juliette stepped closer. "Because your soul remembers but your mind has forgotten. The witch may have taken your memory... but she didn't destroy what we had."
He looked down at the flower in his hands.
"Sometimes," he whispered, "I wake up feeling like something's missing. Like there's a hole in my chest."
She reached for him then. Took his hand. Held it against her heart.
"Me," she said. "You're missing me."
As they stood together, moonlight pouring through the glass, Juliette felt the first spark of warmth return.
And deep in the shadows of the mansion, the witch stirred, angry, watching, waiting.
But this time, Juliette didn't tremble.
Because love, she now understood, was not her curse.
It was her weapon.