Cursed rose: Love that kills

Episode 3

Deep within the cavern, hidden from the

world, the darkness was absolute. He stood there, motionless, like a statue carved from obsidian. For five long years, this had been his life. He had abandoned society, he had abandoned his title as a surgeon, and he had given himself completely to the shadows.

He was wearing the ritual attire now, a long, heavy robe made of dark fabric that absorbed the light. And on his head, he wore a hood that was pulled low, casting his entire face into deep shadow, hiding his features, hiding his eyes, hiding his madness from the world. Only his mouth and chin were visible, twisted into a perpetual expression of longing and rage.

He was a High Priest now. He had earned his rank through blood and suffering. The symbols on his robe glowed faintly in the candlelight.

"Five years," he whispered, his voice muffled by the shadows of his hood. "Five years I knelt. Five years I learned. And now... the time has come."

He stood in the center of the massive circle. The altar was before him, empty now, waiting. He had prepared everything. He had gathered the power. He had summoned the entities.

"Today, I will bring her back," he swore, raising his hands within the wide sleeves. "Today, the spell will work."

THE FIVE DAYS

The ritual began. It was not quick. It lasted for five days and five nights.

For five days, he did not sleep. He did not eat. He only chanted. He only channeled. The energy in the room grew so thick it was like water. The air crackled with electricity. The symbols burned red hot.

On the first day, hope was high.

On the second day, the power came.

On the third day, the voices answered.

On the fourth day, the ground shook.

But on the fifth day... silence.

The magic swirled violently, but there was no soul to catch. She was gone. She had moved on. She was not coming back.

He fell to his knees, gasping for air, his body exhausted, his mind breaking. The hood fell back slightly, revealing sweat and tears mixing on his face.

"Why?!" he screamed at the empty void. "Five years of preparation! Five days of offering! Why won't you answer?! Why won't you come?!"

The Cult magic was powerful, yes, but it could not force a soul that refused to be bound. It could not create love where there was only hate.

"It failed..." he realized, his heart shattering into dust. "The ritual failed. I am still alone. She is still gone."

The realization was too much. The madness consumed the last bit of his sanity. If he couldn't have her in this life...

"Then I will come to you."

THE FINAL STEP

He stood up, his hand trembling as he reached for the ceremonial dagger. The same blade he used for rituals.

"You want death, my rose? Then fine. I will give you death."

He looked at the circle one last time. Five years wasted. Five days of pain. And still nothing.

"Wait for me," he whispered. "I'm coming."

Without hesitation, he turned the blade against himself. He drove it deep into his own chest, ending his life right there in the temple of darkness. The blood flowed, mixing with the chalk and symbols, sealing his final act of obsession.

His body collapsed. The lights flickered and died.

And their souls were thrown back into the cycle. The curse pulled them down, and then pushed them up again, into new bodies, new lives, but bound by the same thread.

REBIRTH: THE HOSPITAL

Years later.

The world was bright, clean, and white. The smell of antiseptic replaced the smell of incense. The sound of beeping monitors replaced the sound of chanting.

He opened his eyes. He was standing in a corridor. He was wearing a white coat again. A stethoscope around his neck.

"Doctor Jonathan," someone called. "Patient is ready."

He blinked. He was back. He was a doctor again. A renowned surgeon. Handsome. Respected.

And he remembered everything. He remembered the love. He remembered the pain. He remembered the five years in darkness. He remembered the hood. He remembered the dagger. And he remembered the failure.

"But we are back," he whispered, a smile touching his lips. "We are given another chance. This time... I will do it right. I will be gentle. I will be perfect. I will make you love me."

He began to work. The hospital was large, busy, filled with staff and patients.

And then, he saw her.

Or so he thought.

She was wearing a nurse's uniform. White dress, cap, apron. She was beautiful. Soft. Kind. She had the same face. The same eyes. The same soul signature he had been chasing for lifetimes.

"There you are," his heart skipped a beat. "My love. You are here. You are a nurse."

He walked towards her. She looked up and smiled. A sweet, innocent smile.

"Good morning, Doctor," she said softly.

That voice. It sounded like her. It felt like her.

"What is your name?" he asked, captivated.

"Elena," she replied.

He frowned slightly. Elena? Not the name I remember. But he didn't care. Names didn't matter. Faces did. Souls did.

"Beautiful name for a beautiful girl," he smiled.

He didn't know. He hDeep within the cavern, hidden from the

world, the darkness was absolute. He stood there, motionless, like a statue carved from obsidian. For five long years, this had been his life. He had abandoned society, he had abandoned his title as a surgeon, and he had given himself completely to the shadows.

He was wearing the ritual attire now, a long, heavy robe made of dark fabric that absorbed the light. And on his head, he wore a hood that was pulled low, casting his entire face into deep shadow, hiding his features, hiding his eyes, hiding his madness from the world. Only his mouth and chin were visible, twisted into a perpetual expression of longing and rage.

He was a High Priest now. He had earned his rank through blood and suffering. The symbols on his robe glowed faintly in the candlelight.

"Five years," he whispered, his voice muffled by the shadows of his hood. "Five years I knelt. Five years I learned. And now... the time has come."

He stood in the center of the massive circle. The altar was before him, empty now, waiting. He had prepared everything. He had gathered the power. He had summoned the entities.

"Today, I will bring her back," he swore, raising his hands within the wide sleeves. "Today, the spell will work."

THE FIVE DAYS

The ritual began. It was not quick. It lasted for five days and five nights.

For five days, he did not sleep. He did not eat. He only chanted. He only channeled. The energy in the room grew so thick it was like water. The air crackled with electricity. The symbols burned red hot.

On the first day, hope was high.

On the second day, the power came.

On the third day, the voices answered.

On the fourth day, the ground shook.

But on the fifth day... silence.

The magic swirled violently, but there was no soul to catch. She was gone. She had moved on. She was not coming back.

He fell to his knees, gasping for air, his body exhausted, his mind breaking. The hood fell back slightly, revealing sweat and tears mixing on his face.

"Why?!" he screamed at the empty void. "Five years of preparation! Five days of offering! Why won't you answer?! Why won't you come?!"

The Cult magic was powerful, yes, but it could not force a soul that refused to be bound. It could not create love where there was only hate.

"It failed..." he realized, his heart shattering into dust. "The ritual failed. I am still alone. She is still gone."

The realization was too much. The madness consumed the last bit of his sanity. If he couldn't have her in this life...

"Then I will come to you."

THE FINAL STEP

He stood up, his hand trembling as he reached for the ceremonial dagger. The same blade he used for rituals.

"You want death, my rose? Then fine. I will give you death."

He looked at the circle one last time. Five years wasted. Five days of pain. And still nothing.

"Wait for me," he whispered. "I'm coming."

Without hesitation, he turned the blade against himself. He drove it deep into his own chest, ending his life right there in the temple of darkness. The blood flowed, mixing with the chalk and symbols, sealing his final act of obsession.

His body collapsed. The lights flickered and died.

And their souls were thrown back into the cycle. The curse pulled them down, and then pushed them up again, into new bodies, new lives, but bound by the same thread.

REBIRTH: THE HOSPITAL

Years later.

The world was bright, clean, and white. The smell of antiseptic replaced the smell of incense. The sound of beeping monitors replaced the sound of chanting.

He opened his eyes. He was standing in a corridor. He was wearing a white coat again. A stethoscope around his neck.

"Doctor Jonathan," someone called. "Patient is ready."

He blinked. He was back. He was a doctor again. A renowned surgeon. Handsome. Respected.

And he remembered everything. He remembered the love. He remembered the pain. He remembered the five years in darkness. He remembered the hood. He remembered the dagger. And he remembered the failure.

"But we are back," he whispered, a smile touching his lips. "We are given another chance. This time... I will do it right. I will be gentle. I will be perfect. I will make you love me."

He began to work. The hospital was large, busy, filled with staff and patients.

And then, he saw her.

Or so he thought.

She was wearing a nurse's uniform. White dress, cap, apron. She was beautiful. Soft. Kind. She had the same face. The same eyes. The same soul signature he had been chasing for lifetimes.

"There you are," his heart skipped a beat. "My love. You are here. You are a nurse."

He walked towards her. She looked up and smiled. A sweet, innocent smile.

"Good morning, Doctor," she said softly.

That voice. It sounded like her. It felt like her.

"What is your name?" he asked, captivated.

"Elena," she replied.

He frowned slightly. Elena? Not the name I remember. But he didn't care. Names didn't matter. Faces did. Souls did.

"Beautiful name for a beautiful girl," he smiled.

He didn't know. He hDeep within the cavern, hidden from the

world, the darkness was absolute. He stood there, motionless, like a statue carved from obsidian. For five long years, this had been his life. He had abandoned society, he had abandoned his title as a surgeon, and he had given himself completely to the shadows.

He was wearing the ritual attire now, a long, heavy robe made of dark fabric that absorbed the light. And on his head, he wore a hood that was pulled low, casting his entire face into deep shadow, hiding his features, hiding his eyes, hiding his madness from the world. Only his mouth and chin were visible, twisted into a perpetual expression of longing and rage.

He was a High Priest now. He had earned his rank through blood and suffering. The symbols on his robe glowed faintly in the candlelight.

"Five years," he whispered, his voice muffled by the shadows of his hood. "Five years I knelt. Five years I learned. And now... the time has come."

He stood in the center of the massive circle. The altar was before him, empty now, waiting. He had prepared everything. He had gathered the power. He had summoned the entities.

"Today, I will bring her back," he swore, raising his hands within the wide sleeves. "Today, the spell will work."

THE FIVE DAYS

The ritual began. It was not quick. It lasted for five days and five nights.

For five days, he did not sleep. He did not eat. He only chanted. He only channeled. The energy in the room grew so thick it was like water. The air crackled with electricity. The symbols burned red hot.

On the first day, hope was high.

On the second day, the power came.

On the third day, the voices answered.

On the fourth day, the ground shook.

But on the fifth day... silence.

The magic swirled violently, but there was no soul to catch. She was gone. She had moved on. She was not coming back.

He fell to his knees, gasping for air, his body exhausted, his mind breaking. The hood fell back slightly, revealing sweat and tears mixing on his face.

"Why?!" he screamed at the empty void. "Five years of preparation! Five days of offering! Why won't you answer?! Why won't you come?!"

The Cult magic was powerful, yes, but it could not force a soul that refused to be bound. It could not create love where there was only hate.

"It failed..." he realized, his heart shattering into dust. "The ritual failed. I am still alone. She is still gone."

The realization was too much. The madness consumed the last bit of his sanity. If he couldn't have her in this life...

"Then I will come to you."

THE FINAL STEP

He stood up, his hand trembling as he reached for the ceremonial dagger. The same blade he used for rituals.

"You want death, my rose? Then fine. I will give you death."

He looked at the circle one last time. Five years wasted. Five days of pain. And still nothing.

"Wait for me," he whispered. "I'm coming."

Without hesitation, he turned the blade against himself. He drove it deep into his own chest, ending his life right there in the temple of darkness. The blood flowed, mixing with the chalk and symbols, sealing his final act of obsession.

His body collapsed. The lights flickered and died.

And their souls were thrown back into the cycle. The curse pulled them down, and then pushed them up again, into new bodies, new lives, but bound by the same thread.

REBIRTH: THE HOSPITAL

Years later.

The world was bright, clean, and white. The smell of antiseptic replaced the smell of incense. The sound of beeping monitors replaced the sound of chanting.

He opened his eyes. He was standing in a corridor. He was wearing a white coat again. A stethoscope around his neck.

"Doctor Jonathan," someone called. "Patient is ready."

He blinked. He was back. He was a doctor again. A renowned surgeon. Handsome. Respected.

And he remembered everything. He remembered the love. He remembered the pain. He remembered the five years in darkness. He remembered the hood. He remembered the dagger. And he remembered the failure.

"But we are back," he whispered, a smile touching his lips. "We are given another chance. This time... I will do it right. I will be gentle. I will be perfect. I will make you love me."

He began to work. The hospital was large, busy, filled with staff and patients.

And then, he saw her.

Or so he thought.

She was wearing a nurse's uniform. White dress, cap, apron. She was beautiful. Soft. Kind. She had the same face. The same eyes. The same soul signature he had been chasing for lifetimes.

"There you are," his heart skipped a beat. "My love. You are here. You are a nurse."

He walked towards her. She looked up and smiled. A sweet, innocent smile.

"Good morning, Doctor," she said softly.

That voice. It sounded like her. It felt like her.

"What is your name?" he asked, captivated.

"Elena," she replied.

He frowned slightly. Elena? Not the name I remember. But he didn't care. Names didn't matter. Faces did. Souls did.

"Beautiful name for a beautiful girl," he smiled.

He didn't know.