The vial in my hand felt heavier than ss and liquid–it carried myst shed of hope.

As I walked through the corridor toward Francesco’s chambers, I held it tightly, afraid that if loosened my grip, my resolve would crumble with it. Each step echoed with uncertainty, and every breath I took wasced with fear.

I prayed silently, desperately–that the potion would work

That it would bring him back.

That it would d bring tus back.

I couldn’t bear the thought of Francesco forgetting me.

Our first encounter under the storm, when he towered like a god cloaked in moonlight. The way! That night, I thought I was about to die. Instead, I met him. And life bhas /bnever been the same since

wy his eve

eyes met mine–curious, wary, and strangely tender.

My first painting I gave him–the portrait of the woman. Anastasia, Histe mate. I thought I had overstepped, but instead, he saw me. Saw my heart, my soul, in every brushstroke

And then…our first real conversation. Standing by the blue rose bush in the gardenb, /bbeneath the soft twilight. The same roses that only bloom for him. bWe /bdidn’t say much that day, but everything changed after it. Something unseen sparked between us. Fragile, new, and byet /bundeniable

Now, to imagine him forgetting all of that? Forgetting me!

it was a thought sharp enough to carve wounds in my soul.

Be brave, Eine… I whispered to myself, it won’t happen. You’ve got this.

But no amount of inner encouragement could slow the hammering of my heart,

When I arrived, Francesco was seated by the btall/b, arched window in his chambers. He sat inplete stillness, staring out at the grave bof /bancient trees that bordered the estate. His posture was tense but regal, like a statue carved from living shadow. The sunlight poured through the panes behind him, casting a golden hue around his figure, but he seemed untouched by it–like the light no longer recognized bhim/b.

And when he turned to look at me, my world bcopsed/b.

His eyes, once sp fierce and soulful, held no trace of recognition

No warmth. No spark.

bJust /bconfusion and emptiness.

“China…” I breathed, the words falling

My body moved on instinct.

g like ash from my lips.

“Francesco,” I whispered, stepping bforward /bas gently as I could. I didn’t want to startle him.

He blinked bbut /bhe didn’t smile.

Didn’t stand. Didn’t reach out.

Didn’t say my name.

“Francesco, Itried again. “It’s me. Eine”

11:09 Mon 14 Jul 6X90

He didn’t respond. Only his brows furrowed slightly as if trying to make sense of something just beyond his grasp

“brought something for you,” I said uhly, holding out the small, iridescent val “Please. Drink it.”

He eyed it with suspicion. “Who are you?”

Those words. Who are you?

They hit me like a de between the ribs.

My heart cracked–shattered into pieces so small I wasn’t sure I could ever put them back Ingether again.

But I didn’t let the pain show on my face.

Instead, I walked slowly to him and knelt before bhim/b, holding the vial in both hands,

“I’m someone who loves you,” I said, voice trembling. “Someone who won’t let you go without a fight.”

For a second, just one fleeting second, his eyes flickered. A spark. A shadow of recognition. A flickering candle in a dark, storm–tossed room.

It was enough.

Juncorked the bvial/b, brought it to his Eps.

And he drank.

At first, nothing happened.

He sat still, blinking, confused. Then, all at once–he gasped, clutching his head in agony. His back arched as light burst from the center of his chest like a shockwave. Shadows twisted along the bwalls/b, curling ke tendrils of smoke. The room pulsed with energy–chaotic, ancient, wild.

His body trembled, teeth clenchedb, /beyes wide.

And then–he copsed

“No!” I screamed, lunging forward bjust /bin time to catch him before his head hit the floor.

“Francescol

His body felt like lead in my arms. Heavy Lifeless

I pressed my ear to bhis /bchest–his heartbeat was thereb, /bfaint but steady. I exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding

He was alive. But unconscious.

Iid him down gently on the cushions and sat beside him, brushing the damp strands of hair from his forehead. My bhands /bshook as I cradled his face, his skin still warm under my touch.

I didn’t know if the potion worked. I didn’t know if he’d ever open his eyes and see me again.

But I would bwait/b.

I would wait!

for him for as long bas /bbit /bbook.

An hour passed.

Then two

Knock Knock

A quiet knock at the door drew my attention.

Beta Alfonso stepped in silently, followed by Monica. Their expressions were grave, their eyes immediately scanning Francesco’s sleeping form

I shook my head quickly. “He’s stisleep. No change yet

They nodded solemnly. Monica stepped forward and ced a small cup filled with a warm, golden liquid beside me.

“Ginger and wildflower she whispered. “To help your strength”

I give him a sad smile

mile “Thank you

(you,” I mummured, my voice barely above a whisper,

They left without another word.

I stared at the cup for a moment, then took a long sip. The warmth spread through my chestb, /bslightly calming the tremble in my hands.

And then–his fingers twitched.

My eyes widened. I set the cup down quickly and rushed back to his bside/b, grabbing his hand.

“Francesco?” I whispered, afraid to hope. Alraid to breathe.

Slowly, painfully slowly, his eyelids fluttered.

And then-

He opened his eyes.

Those beautiful eyesb, /bfilled with storm and fire.

They blinked at me once.

Twice.

And then, “Eine?”

He said my name.

My knees gave out beneath me as tears flooded my eyes. I buried my face in his hand and nodded. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

He pushed himself up slowly, his movements sluggish. He cupped my face between his trembling hands, his gaze searching every inch of me as it anchoring himself in reality.

“What… what happened?” he asked, his voice hoarse

“You forgot,” I whispered. “But you came back.”

He didn’t speak. Instead, he pulled me into his arms with such fierce desperation that it stole my breath. I wrapped my arms around him in breturn/b, holding him just as tightlyb, /bafraid to let go.

Because he was here.

He was himself again.

Because love bwas /bstronger than any poison.

bAnd /bI bhad /balmost lost him. bTwice/bb. /b

The sun had begun to set outside the windows, casting the room in a solt orange glow. I helped him sit morefortably against the pillows as he drank

water slowly, still disoriented.

“I remember shes,” he murmured. “Your face. Your voice. The roses. Your painting.”

A tear slipped down my cheek. “That’s more than mough.”

He looked at me again, something fierce and protective burning behind the weariness in his eyes.

“Whoever did this,” he growled, “they will pay!

Inodded, fingers, brushing along the edge of his sleeve. “But for now, you need to rest. You’ve only just returned.”

Francesco’s hand found mine, and he brought it to his chest. “I thought I was drowning in shadows,” he said, his voice a soft rumble. “But even in the dark… I felt you?

His words stole the bair /bfrom my lungs.

“I’ll always find you,” I whispered. “In every lifetime, in every shadow. I’ll alwayse back for you.”

His thumb brushed against my knucklesb. /b“And I’ll always wait.”

We sat in silence, bnot /bneeding to say more.

Outside, the night deepened.

bInside/b, the bond between us strengthened–reborn through low, memory, and unyielding faith.

Whatever came next, we would face it together.

And no pation, no darkness, no curse would ever be bstrong /benough to berase /bwhat we bhad/b.

Because Francesco remembered.

Because he came back to me.

let him go

And I would never let him go again.