Cursed Broken By Alpha Queen

Marie’s Sunshine It was a quiet, golden afternoon in the heart of summer — the kind of afternoon that made the world feel soft and forgiving. Sunlight filtered through the lace curtains of Marie’s study nook, spilling warm, shifting patterns across her desk. Outside, the bees hummed in a lazy rhythm, and the garden glowed in a haze of lavender and gold. But inside, in her little world of notebooks and dreams, Marie was focused — or at least trying to be. She leaned over her notebook, brow furrowed in concentration. Her hair, freshly curled and gleaming like strands of honey, framed a face so full of innocence it could disarm even the coldest heart. Her fair skin caught the sunlight, and the delicate tracings of blue veins beneath her wrists pulsed softly with life and hope. There was a kind of glow to her — not the glow of perfection, but of possibility. Her eyes sparkled, clear and bright, alive with a thousand dreams unfolding all at once. Her soft pink lips curved upward without her realizing, and her deep, doe-like eyes sparkled with an inner world only she knew. In those eyes, dreams danced like fireflies. One last leap, and after that, life was supposed to slow down. To blossom. To give back. At least, that’s what she believed. Everything felt light. Possible. Beautiful. And then, without warning, she felt it — a flutter in her stomach. A rush of butterflies, like a secret signal from her heart. Marie clutched her pen and smiled quietly, the feeling too big to name. She leaned back and sighed contentedly. “Why do people make such a fuss about life?” she whispered, gazing out the window where sunlight kissed the leaves. “Life is so beautiful." So calm.” And in that warm silence, her thoughts drifted — naturally, predictably — towards him. He had been a distant, shining figure in her life for years. Older by just enough to feel mysterious, familiar enough to feel safe. The charming boy her entire extended family adored. Tall, effortlessly graceful, always carrying himself like someone out of a story. The kind of boy who said little but made every word count. His laughter — rare, low, and real — always sent shivers down her spine. His eyes? Oh, they weren’t just brown. They were a whole chapter, a place where shadows and sunlight played together. And now — the impossible had happened. He had chosen her. Her aunt had told her just the week before, with that mischievous smile only women in love or full of secrets wore. “He asked about you, Marie,” she’d said, her voice soft and proud. “He said you’re not like the others. That he wants to marry you.” Marie had frozen. She remembered the exact way her heart had paused — how her breath caught in her throat like a delicate thread. All the tiny stories she used to tell herself at night — about bumping into him by chance, about him saying her name slowly, about the world quieting around them — suddenly didn’t feel silly anymore. They felt prophetic. Now she couldn't help but daydream. She imagined their future together the way girls in love always do — not in grand gestures, but in stolen moments. She’d make tea while he read on the couch. He’d reach out absently to touch her hand. She pictured him walking beside her, a hand resting gently on her lower back, protective and easy, like she was his home. She imagined their wedding — ivory lace, candles, a thousand soft glances exchanged. She imagined how he’d brush a strand of hair from her face on their honeymoon and whisper something only her heart could understand. She thought about writing his name in the margins of her diary. About the way he might say her name in the dark — slower, sweeter. How her name, in his mouth, might sound like poetry. And as all these little fantasies tangled around her like ribbons, Marie felt her chest ache with a joy so pure, so weightless, it almost scared her. Her cheeks flushed. Her hands trembled. Her lips curved into that dreamy half-smile of someone who believed, with her whole heart, that love was coming for her — gentle, real, and finally hers. “I have the most loving parents,” she whispered into the quiet air, “a best friend who knows my soul, and now... the most charming young man wants to be mine.” She paused, eyes glistening with wonder. “Life is beautiful. It’s full of surprises.” Her belief was so sincere that it filled the room. There was no doubt in her. No fear. Just the pure, glowing anticipation of a life that was finally beginning to unfold the way she had always hoped. She was ready. Ready to love, to give, to step into a story that had waited for her all along. Falling in love for the first time feels like discovering a hidden door in your own heart. One moment, everything is ordinary — classes, friends, laughter, routines. And then suddenly, someone walks in... and the world tilts just a little. Not enough to fall, but enough to feel it. Enough to make you notice the way your heart skips — not in panic, but in pure, golden surprise. That’s how it felt for Marie. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t fireworks. It was quieter than that — like a soft gasp in the middle of a sentence. Like the sky turned a warmer shade of blue just for a second. She didn’t even know she was falling — not until she realized how often she was thinking about him. Not until she caught herself waiting for his name to be mentioned in conversation, or how her stomach flipped whenever he laughed from across the room. Not until she was looking for excuses to wear her favorite dress — just in case he noticed. That’s what love does at first. It sneaks in gently, like a breeze through an open window. And before you know it, everything smells like him. Everything sounds like his voice. Everything reminds you of him. Girls in love? Oh, their hearts bloom like spring after winter. They blush at nothing. Smile at everything. They replay one simple compliment over and over, like it was a poem written just for them. Marie began to imagine the little things — the way he’d held her hand for the first time, maybe nervously, maybe like he’d done it in his dreams too. She imagined walking beside him under the stars, hearing him say her name in that quiet way that would make her knees forget how to hold her up. She imagined how he’d smell — maybe like fresh rain or cedarwood and mystery — and how his jacket would feel draped over her shoulders when she was cold. She didn’t just picture big moments. She pictured the soft, ordinary ones. Because girls in love don’t need grand gestures. They fall for the way he says “hey,” the way his smile leans more to one side, the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs like he means it. She thought about what it would feel like to sit beside him in silence and not need to say anything. Just be. Just exist with him. Like two pages in the same story. And of course — she dreamed of being chosen. Fully. Unquestionably. For him to look at her, and without hesitation, say, "You. It’s always been you." That’s how first love feels — Like magic, you didn’t ask for. Like a secret only your heart understands. Like butterflies that refuse to settle because they’ve finally learned how to fly. And the most beautiful part? You never forget it. Not the first flutter. Not the first “what if.” Not the first time you looked at someone and thought, “You feel like home.” The day had ended in a golden hush — the kind of summer evening that melted into night slowly, like warm honey. After dinner, Marie went to her room, pretending to study. But her books stayed shut. Instead, her head was full of him. Later that night, long after the house had fallen silent, Marie lay curled under her blanket, her fairy lights casting a soft pink glow on her walls. Her fan whispered above her, a lullaby lost in the rush of her thoughts. Sleep was nowhere to be found. Not when her stomach was still tangled in butterflies. She grabbed her phone from the nightstand, half-smiling. She knew who she wanted to talk to. Bestie: “Still thinking about your soon-to-be husband? Marie bit her lip and quickly typed back. Marie: “Obviously. I literally can’t stop. It’s embarrassing.” Bestie: “Okay, but like… SPILL. I want the full movie. Don’t you dare hold back this time.” Marie hesitated for half a second — then smirked. If she couldn’t confess it to the world, she could at least tell her best friend. Marie: “Okay, so… it’s stupid, but I keep picturing him walking into a room like he does — all tall and casual, like he has no idea how hot he is. That lazy half-smile?? It’s illegal. And the way he pushes up his sleeves, like he’s about to ruin someone’s life most attractively.” “I swear he doesn’t even try. And that’s what makes it worse. He’s just… unfairly gorgeous.” Bestie: “OMG STOP. You’re describing the male lead in every w*****d romance ever! I’m obsessed. Go on.” Marie giggled, her fingers flying over the screen now. Marie: “His voice is what gets me. Low and warm and slow, like melted chocolate or that first sip of tea on a rainy day. Sometimes I imagine him saying my name — not even dirty, just… soft. Like it belongs to him. Like I belong to him.” Marie: “And his hands?? Don’t even get me started. Big, veiny, warm. I imagine them brushing my waist ‘by accident,’ or him fixing my necklace while his breath is warm on my neck. I would evaporate.” Marie: “I swear, when he looks at me sometimes, I feel like he’s reading me. Like he already knows all the things I’m too scared to say out loud.” She paused, then added another: Marie: “Do you remember that one time he helped me carry the chairs after dinner? He wasn’t even saying much. He just smiled at me, and I swear I couldn’t breathe. My hands were shaking so much I almost dropped the plate.” Bestie: “Marie… I’m not even kidding — I just squealed into my pillow. WHAT IS THIS TENSION? WHY IS HE NOT MINE??” Marie: “The worst part? I imagine us being alone. No one around. Just silence and that kind of energy where you know something is about to happen, but you don’t say it. I imagine him stepping closer. Brushing a strand of hair from my face. Looking down at me with that look. And just whispering…” “‘Can I kiss you now?’” “And at that moment? I always melt. Every time.” Marie squealed into her blanket, her toes curling. Bestie: “YOU’RE LIVING IN A DREAM SEQUENCE I’M SHAKING ” “Okay, but be honest. Have you imagined what it'd be like waking up next to him?? ” Marie grinned wickedly and typed faster. Marie: “Omg YES. In my dream, I woke up and he was already half-awake. One arm around me. His voice was all raspy, like, ‘morning, love.’ And he kissed my shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world.” “And I’d be wearing his hoodie, of course. Oversized. Smelling like him. "We’d be sitting on the couch later, me on his lap, pretending to argue over the movie while he draws lazy circles on my thigh like he owns me.” “And forehead kisses? Girl. The kind that makes you feel like the only girl in the universe.” Bestie: “STOP. I'm BANGING MY HEAD INTO THE WALL. This is so soft and hot at the same time” Marie: “It’s not just how he looks. It’s how he feels. Like when I imagine him loving me, really loving me… I feel safe. Like I’m exactly where I belong. Like home, but in a heartbeat.” There was a long pause. Then… Bestie: “Mariiie. This isn’t just a crush. This is soulmate energy. I can feel it.” Marie lay back, her phone pressed to her chest, her heart fluttering. Her mind spun in soft, dizzy loops. Maybe it was just a dream. Maybe it will never happen. But for now — in the quiet dark, tangled in thoughts and giggles and late-night texting — she was in love. Truly, stupidly, beautifully in love. And that was enough. But what she didn’t know — what no one ever tells you — is that, sometimes, the brightest light is just the illusion of a storm. And because the cruelest awakenings come from the sweetest dreams. And Marie... Marie was about to awaken.