Page 1 of Labyrinth of Broken Vows
Prologue
The smoke swirls in the obsidian crystal, a dance of shadows and whispers. It curls like a serpent around in the black glass, seeking, searching—until it finds her.
There she is.
Her.
She sits at the table, the warmth of the candlelight making her glow like some forgotten goddess, her eyes tracing every word in her book with that look of longing. She reads as though the pagescould save her, as though the world inside could lift her from her reality. I watch her lips part, her fingers drifting over the words as if they are sacred. How I wish she would look at me like that—her eyes filled with wonder, her heart open.
But I am a shadow in her world, nothing more than a flicker she cannot see.
A soft caw echoes beside me, and I feel the presence in my mind before her voice touches me. The crow perches on my shoulder, it’s black feathers like midnight against my cloak.
She will never know unless you make her.
I don’t respond, but the weight of the words settles deep in my chest. My crow knows me too well, sees through the layers of my silence. It always has. She has been my closest companion in this world —my friend, my mind's other half. Her thoughts weave into mine, no need for words, no need for anything but that invisible thread that ties us together. I feel her affection, her loyalty, and I return it, silently, always.
But then, the vision changes. The air in her little kitchen shifts, darkening, thickening with dread. I know what’s coming before it happens, and already my grip tightens on the staff. The door crashes open, a sound I’ve come to hate, and there he is—her husband, the knight who calls her his own. His footsteps are heavy, filled with anger, and she flinches before he even speaks
My heart twists as I see her, the way her shoulders hunch, the way she quickly hides her book behind the dishes, as if he could rip that small piece of joy from her hands, too. Her body betrays her fear, and I feel it echo through the crystal, through the bond I have with her though she doesn’t know it exists. She shrinks under his gaze, his presence consuming the room, just as I have watched him consume her spirit piece by piece. I cannot bear it any longer.
The crow presses closer to me, her mind touching mine, urging me to act. Her thoughts are quiet, but they burn with thesame rage I feel.He will bleed,I think, knowing the crow hears it as clearly as if I had spoken aloud.
Her wings shift, and I feel her satisfaction, her approval. She knows me, understands the need that grows within me, the fury that coils tighter each time I see her like this—broken, fearful, trapped.
I will spill his blood, I will carve her freedom from her husband’s flesh, one scream at a time.
one
she wanders—a ghost in sunlight, she is known as Sad Song Brielle. Their pity lingers in every whisper, for her pain is a secret they all share
As I wandered through Rivenstone, the town I called home, my heart flutters like a caged bird, a whirlwind of excitement and anxiety swirling within me. The sun drapes the cobblestone streets in a golden embrace, each stone polished smooth by the passage of countless footsteps. Its rays wove through the ancient trees that graced the edges, casting a gentle tapestry of light and shadow upon them. The sweet scent of freshly baked bread wafted from the nearby baker’s stall, mingling with the earthy aroma of herbs from the apothecary.
I took it all in, clutching my bag closer to my body, the book inside weighing heavy on my shoulder; the forbidden treasure that whispered secrets I was never meant to hear. In this town, a woman who reads is a woman brimming with ideas, andsuch notions are not permitted here. If word were to reach my husband... I couldn't bear to finish that thought. Instead, I quickened my steps, my heart racing. He wouldn’t know; he wasn’t on patrol this early.
Yet the gleam of silver from the blacksmith’s forge made my breath catch, a fleeting thought of a knight in shining armor flickering to life in my mind. But this knight—my husband—was not the savior of damsels in distress; he was the one who cast me into the shadows of despair. That damsel was me.
Rivenstone was alive with the sounds of laughter and chatter. Children played near the fountain in the square, their joyous squeals ringing like bells, while merchants shouted their wares, trying to entice passersby. I caught a glimpse of a colorful tapestry hanging outside one of the shops, depicting scenes of noble knights and fair maidens.
I moved on, my feet leading me towardCedar Scrolls & Tomes, the sanctuary that awaited me just ahead.
The wooden sign swung gently in the breeze, the letters faded but welcoming. Pushing open the door, I was greeted by the familiar chime of the bell above, a soothing sound that I never got tired of . Inside, the air felt thick with stories waiting to be discovered, the smell of parchment and leather wrapping around me like a favorite blanket.
Alaric emerged from behind a towering shelf, his bright eyes crinkling with delight. He was a short man, almost gnome-like, with wisps of white hair that seemed to dance in the air. “Ah, Brielle! Back so soon?” he exclaimed, his voice warm and inviting. “Have you finished that book already?”
“Oh, Alaric, I adored it, yet sometimes these worlds and their characters feel like such a tease. I know they are mere fiction, and while I revel in their tales, a lingering ache remains once I close the book. It’s the unfair truth that I cannot leap intothe pages and dwell among them, to lose myself in their lives, forever escaping this reality.”
The moment the words slip from my lips, I yearn to swallow them back. The pity etched on his face compels me to lower my gaze to the floor. I’ve grown accustomed to evading the sympathetic stares of the townsfolk. They believe I’m oblivious to the whispers and songs woven about me—yet nothing remains hidden in this small place. Everyone relishes a tragic tale, and, unfortunately, I am one of them.
“That is the price of fiction, my dear. Do not fret; even the happiest of souls yearn for more—longing for the stories that dance within these pages. From knights seeking grand adventures to lonely wives craving something beyond the confines of their lives. Even the old man, whose back creaks like the floorboards when he rises, embarks on journeys through the tales of far more capable characters. Everyone yearns to be someone else, somewhere else, if only for a fleeting moment that stretches across a few hundred pages.”
A playful smile danced on my lips as I looked at Alaric. “Alaric, you’re the only one who really gets it. That’s why you’re my favorite person in this town, you know that?”
He blushed, his cheeks turning a rosy shade, “Oh, you only say that because I provide you with all the best books!”
I laughed softly. “Maybe, but you also keep my secret love for them safe, and for that, I’ll forever be grateful.”
In that moment, we shared a warmth that felt like sunlight breaking through the clouds.
