The Devil's Cursed Witch



A  huge deathly still hall, a stone platform surrounded by flowers, no healers or servants in sight…

Why was Morpheus not lying on a comfortable mattress inside his own home…? 

Draven could feel what she was feeling, but he continued to take her towards the stone platform. Each step felt heavy as if a weight was tied to her ankles, dragging her back. She even had the urge to turn around and run away.

"Draven…?" Ember looked at the man with moist eyes, wanting to hear but at the same time fearing to hear the truth. 

The red-eyed man turned away from her sorrowful gaze. 

At this point, Agraleus was bringing Aureus with him outside to give Ember privacy and they were heading for the door. Aureus had no reaction, but the gray eagle forced out a thin smile at the sight of the trembling human girl. 

"Morph, he will be… pleased to know you visited, Lady Ember."

After Agraleus and Aureus were gone, the silence inside the hall was so loud it was deafening.

Ember did not know what happened next, but when she regained her senses, she was already looking down at the white-robed Morpheus surrounded by flowers, feathers, small trinkets and other various objects.

His handsome face harbored a small smile, not his usual lopsided smirk, but one that was…that was…

Ember could not tell. Her eyes had turned blurry with tears.

"W-Why is he lying here like this? No pillows, no blanket…no wonder…no wonder he is so cold…Draven…Morph is cold…" 

Her trembling hands were touching his lifeless hand. The large hand that held her whenever they flew in the sky, the large hand that gave her her first whistle, the same hand that saved her when she almost died on that cliff, that kind and warm hand…why was it so stiff and cold?

It was the same coldness she felt when she held her nanny that fateful night. The tears she had been trying to hold back fell in torrents. 

"I-Is this some kind, some kind of weird preservation spell? To prolong his life till his injury—"

Draven's words shattered her false hope. 

"Morph is gone."

"What do you mean by...gone?"

"He won't be with us anymore."

"No, no, no—"

"Morph is gone, Ember."

"It cannot be! He can't be gone! He can't be dead!" 

Draven put his hand on her shoulder. "It's the truth."

Loud sobs overflowing with denial and pain echoed within that empty hall.

"—no, no… You cannot die…you cannot…Morph, wake up! You promised me! You told me you'll come to me whenever I call for you! You told me you will bring me around Agartha! You promised! You promised…You have to wake up…you cannot leave your bestfriend behind…Morph…"

Ember had fallen on her knees in front of the stone platform, begging and crying her eyes out in grief. Draven didn't  say a word, merely staying by her side to comfort her. No amount of comfort could heal her—what she needed was time to accept reality.

"It's all my fault…Why did you have to be there…? Why didn't you let me die instead? It should have been me. I wanted to…I wanted to die…"

Draven closed his eyes.

'No, Ember. The one who should have died is me.'

After crying for a long, long time, she remembered how all this began and who was the one to kill Morpheus. 

"...her fault…Isa's fault…that vixen Isa, I will—"

Anger inside her started to rise again and Draven felt it clearly through their bond.  I think you should take a look at

"Ember," he called her and held her closer. He could not let her lose her temper and cause another tragedy. 

She buried her face in his embrace and continued to bawl like a child, "Morph died because of me…It's all because of me…"

'It's not because of you but me. He died because of me, to save me…to change my destiny.'

Draven could only say those words in his heart. The death of his friend—it was a sin he would carry forever. As he closed his eyes, a single tear betrayed his cold mask.

"Isa…she did it," Ember cried. "You need to punish her!"

"She will be punished," he assured, but no amount of punishment would be enough. Even if Isa was sentenced to death, a life gone would never come back.

Ember clutched Draven's clothes, and her green eyes stared at him with hope. "Draven, aren't Dragons powerful? Aren't you the most powerful? Can't you use your powers to bring Morph back? Anyone's—"

"Not even Dragons can revive the dead."

Hearing those words, Ember started to cry even more. The loss of her best friend was simply unbearable.

Draven took her back to the palace, but even then, Ember could not stop crying. All night, she cried and cried, wishing for Morpheus to come back to her.

When morning came, her servants knocked to inform her it was time for the cremation of the Commander of Warriors and she should prepare to leave. What greeted the elves were the sight of Ember's red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks, and she barely responded to their words. She didn't even take more than a bite from the food they brought her.

Before leaving for Redcrest, Ember dug up from her dresser the most treasured item in her possession—the small bird whistle Morpheus gave to her. An object to summon him to her side… but  even if she called him now, she knew he wouldn't come to her. 

Ember stood at the balcony of her study with the whistle clutched against her heart. The sky, had it always looked this empty? Not a single cloud in sight? No one with majestic gray wings dropping down from the sky?

It was difficult to wrap her mind on the fact he would never appear in front of her again. As her green eyes swept at the expanse of the balcony, it was as if she could see him talking to her.

'Little female, why do you look sad?' 

Ash gray eyes that never wavered away from her, a lopsided smile on that handsome face, his majestic gray wings spread behind him, bringing about a gust of air with each and every flap.

A miserable smile tugged at her lips.

'Do you miss me?'

'I miss you.'

'Uhm, where do you want to go?'

'Anywhere you want to take me to.'

'Let me carry you then.'

Ember stretched her hands towards him so he could carry her but the moment she touched that blurry image, it disappeared. 

"Morph!"

Devastated, she continued to call out until she was hoarse. 

Her cries gave way to a laugh too painful to hear. She was clutching too tightly on the bird whistle, it dug on her palm. 

'You told me you will come…if I blow the whistle…you told me…'

Ember blew the whistle a few times, puffing all the air in her lungs as loud as she could, the same way as she did before.

"Turn deaf! I will blow this whistle so hard your eardrums will burst and you turn deaf!"

As a stream of tears continued to roll down her cheeks, she could not help but blow more air into the whistle, wishing for the impossible.

'Morph, you liar…you said you would come so where are you…? I wish you would come back to me…I wish…'