The Curse Within

The first thing Madeline learned was the feeling of pain and the sounds of chains that bound her, before she even learned her name. They scraped softly against stone whenever she shifted, a dull familiar sound that echoed through the dungeon. The cell was old, older than the palace above it. Water dripped somewhere beyond the walls, moss crept between the cracks in the floor. The air smelled of rusty iron, old cold stone, and something faintly bitter, like burned herbs meant to suppress magic. She sat on the narrow bed pressed against the wall, her knees drawn to her chest, bare feet numb against the cold stone. A thin blanket lay folded beside her, untouched. Because it never helps much. They had locked Madeline away before she was old enough to understand why. The iron collar around her neck was etched with marks and symbols she could not read but had long memorized by the shape alone. The collar reacts when she feels hope, when her emotions stirred too sharply, and when her thoughts wandered far into places the humans feared. The collar was connected to chains bolted into the wall to restrain her body and to remind her that she belonged here. Below. Beneath the throne. She had been told, once, that this dungeon existed to keep the kingdom safe. She later realized it existed to protect the kingdom from her. Madeline had no memory of the day she was brought here. Only fragments remained, flashes of torchlight, the echo of voices arguing above her, hands gripping her arms too tightly. She remembered crying from pain and confusion. She had asked questions that no one answered. What crimes did I commit? Why am I here? Why does everyone look at me like that? No one explained. They never did. Years passed, measured only by the height of her body against the wall marks she carved herself. Seasons changed without her ever seeing them. She learned the rhythm of the guards’ footsteps, the times food was delivered, and the silence that settled just before dawn. Some guards avoided looking at her. Others stared too long. Only one ever spoke to her like she was someone important. Elias. He came with the evening rounds, his steps quieter than the others, his eyes softer. He never called her “the cursed one.” He said her name, always carefully, as if it mattered. “Madeline,” he would say, setting the tray down. “You should eat.” Sometimes she did. Sometimes she couldn’t. “Why am I here?” she asked him once, her voice hoarse from being hardly used. Elias hesitated. His jaw tightened. "I don't know." That night, the marks on her collar burned brighter than usual. Madeline knew that to survive, she must bury her thoughts. By forcing her emotions down until they were hardly known. The feeling of rage made the chains vibrate, fear made the symbols to glow. Hope was the most dangerous of all, it made the walls feel thinner, as if something inside her pressed outward, searching. So she learned not to hope. Above her, the human kingdom thrived. She could hear it sometimes, music drifting faintly through the stone during festivals, laughter echoing through corridors she never walked. Once, she heard the deep toll of bells ringing for a royal celebration. The sound carried through the dungeon like a mockery. They celebrated peace while keeping her buried. She didn’t know that tonight, the palace was lit brightly with candle lights. She didn’t know that nobles filled the grand hall in fancy clothes and jewels, that cups were raised, that smiles were practiced and false. She didn’t know that the human king and queen sat upon their throne with unease tightening their chests. She didn’t know the vampires had arrived. All she felt was the shift. It began as a pressure in her lungs, subtle but undeniable. The air grew heavier, the marks along the walls flickered, their glow uneven and unstable. Madeline’s breath caught as a strange awareness brushed against her, vast and ancient. Something had noticed her. Her fingers curled into the stone as coldness spread beneath her skin, unfamiliar and dangerous. The collar reacted instantly, burning cold against her throat. She gasped, pain flaring as the magic was forced back down. Above her, negotiations were beginning. Below, the girl beneath the throne closed her eyes, unaware that her imprisonment was about to end in consequence, and to be traded.