The Devil's Betrothed
Chapter 412: Painful Memories

Chapter 412: Painful Memories

Yorian remained by Oriana’s side, offering his presence as a source of comfort. However, deep down, he knew that there was little he could do to alleviate the pain that weighed heavily on her. It would be a while before the anguish stemming from another’s suffering would release its grip on her.

"You should rest," Yorian gently suggested, but received no response from her. All Oriana could discern was the heart-wrenching sobs of that young boy, and she could keenly feel the intensity of his torment.

Yorian decided to give her some space, tenderly cradling her trembling form as he moved her to the bed. She reluctantly released the fleeting comfort she had derived from his presence and curled up on the bed. Her grip on the bedsheet was fierce, causing it to tangle and crumple.

In that moment, Oriana was not herself. She had become one with the boy she witnessed in her vision.

In her mind’s, the vivid scene unfolded: a young boy emerged from the door of that cryptic room, its secrets concealed within. His tiny frame swayed as he struggled to take steps away from that ominous place. Before him stretched an endless corridor shrouded in darkness. His weary, half-lidded ocean-blue eyes strained to discern a path forward, and he managed to move a few steps, driven by sheer determination.

Thud!

The door behind him slammed shut, causing his weak body to collapse onto the frigid floor. Desperation gnawed at him as he yearned to escape, but his body, ensnared by malevolent black magic, remained feeble. He writhed in pain, as if his very soul were being torn from his body. In his weakened and bewildered state, he attempted to crawl, his sole desire to put distance between himself and that wretched place. Yet, he could only make meager progress.

Unable to escape, a little boy lay on the cold floor, shrouded in the darkest corner. His fragile small body quivered, ensnared in a web of sinister black magic. He writhed in intense pain, drenched in sweat, eyes tightly shut, tears streaming.

His suffering was more than physical; it was a mental anguish rooted in profound loneliness. There was no one to offer solace, and the isolation felt even more oppressive than the darkness enveloping his existence. His heart ached for companionship, but he remained stranded in desolation, he was lonely even when he was in pain.

His little hands reached out in search of solace but found none, and his quivering lips yearned to utter words, a cry for someone to embrace him.

"Mother..." Oriana murmured in her bewildered state.

Yorian, who had just withdrawn to give her some space, heard her soft utterance. Understanding that it was the voice of the tormented boy from her vision, he knew that Oriana had lost herself in his agony. Despite the chilling weather, her body was drenched in perspiration.

Yorian summoned his elven magic. In an instant, the room’s windows flung open, permitting the frigid, invigorating air to flood in. He gently placed his hand on Oriana’s sweaty forehead and closed his eyes, invoking ancient elven runes. With this, he shared a portion of his own strength with her fragile form, enabling her to endure the torment until its eventual conclusion.

The tormenting visions relentlessly paraded through Oriana’s mind, shifting to a series of excruciating scenes, including that boy. All of his painful moments were unraveling in her vision.

That same young boy stood before a mirror, clutching a knife to his throat, his intent chillingly clear. His ocean-blue eyes were devoid of emotion as he severed his own throat. He knelt on the floor, awaiting the embrace of death, but instead, he was met with nothing but bitter disappointment. His naive mind grappled with helplessness and frustration.

In another heart-wrenching episode, the boy perched on the stone-walled railing of the palace’s highest floor. His gaze fixated on the abyss below, as if it held the promise of relieving him from all his torment. Without a second thought, he took a leap, hurtling toward the ground. The instant his body made contact with the earth, his mind was overwhelmed by the searing agony of bones shattering. Yet, this pain felt sweeter than the agony he endured during every full moon. Even as he faced the throes of death, he harbored no regret. His eyes grew vacant, and he waited for death to claim him, shutting his eyes. But, despite enduring such excruciating pain, after a while, his entire body miraculously mended itself, and he was left with the burden of life. He despised it.

The young boy was at the water reservoir, once more gripped by the intention of ending his own life. He gazed at the tranquil surface of water below and, with eyes tightly shut, leaped into the water. His small frame sank in the water, his eyes yearning for the sweet embrace of death, yet death once more didn’t show up for him.

Countless agonizing memories of the young boy unfurled, each depicting different methods he had explored to end his own life. At an age when children typically ravelled in toys and delighted in sweet candies, he had nothing in his mind but to end his life.

In the end, a small figure once more was walking into that dark corridor on the night of full moon. Each of his step as heavy as if heavy rocks were tied to his feet, his mind unwilling to go to that room and face that sinister person.

With his head bowed low, he stood before the ominous door, fear and anxiety engulfing his thoughts. He longed to weep, silently pleading for someone to come to his rescue, but no savior ever appeared. All he knew was that he couldn’t bear to enter that room. The door ominously creaked open of its own accord, and with no other recourse, the small figure stepped inside the foreboding darkness. The door shut behind him, sealing him within like the jaws of a ravenous beast that had ensnared its prey.

Oriana continued to feel his pain and cry as if it was her who was feeling every bit of that pain.