The Ghost That Holds My Fate

The witch's cryptic words lingered like a shadow in Lorenzo's mind, heavy and suffocating. The room was quiet except for the distant sound of the wind rushing through the trees, its hollow whistle like a haunting melody. Lorenzo winced, shifting against the cold floor, his blood pooling beneath him and staining his shirt.

"Lorenzo…" Isolde's voice cracked, her violet eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Your blood—it's not stopping."

Her hands fluttered uncertainly, the helplessness etched on her face making her look even more fragile.

Lorenzo forced a weak smile, though pain gnawed at him. "Isolde… it's okay," he murmured, his voice strained. "Don't cry. This isn't your fault."

"How can you say that?" she whispered, her tears slipping free. Her voice quivered, raw and desperate. "What can I do to help you? Tell me."

He took a slow, shaky breath, leaning his head back against the wall. The faint sound of the wind chimes outside filled the silence, their soft, mournful tinkling breaking the stillness. "There's a first aid box," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "In the drawer… in the living room."

Isolde didn't hesitate. She shot to her feet, her silver-white hair trailing behind her like a wisp of light in the dim room. Her movements were hurried, almost frantic, as she searched for the drawer. She found the box and brought it back, her hands trembling.

"Is this it?" she asked, kneeling beside him.

He nodded weakly, his ocean-blue eyes meeting hers. "Yeah… that's the one."

Opening the box, Isolde stared at its contents, her uncertainty evident. "I don't know how to use any of this," she admitted, her voice small.

Lorenzo offered her a faint smile. "I'll guide you," he said, though his voice wavered as another wave of pain rippled through him.

With his instructions, she carefully cleaned the wound. Each time her cold fingers brushed his skin, he sucked in a sharp breath, unable to suppress a groan.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice heavy with guilt.

"It's okay," he assured her, though the strain in his voice betrayed him. "Just keep going, Izzy. You're doing great."

The nickname made her pause, but she didn't say anything, focusing instead on wrapping the bandage around his torso. Her touch was deliberate and soft, her violet eyes flicking to his face each time he flinched.

When she finally tied the bandage, she let out a relieved breath. "All done," she said softly.

Lorenzo leaned back, exhaling deeply. "Thank you, Izzy," he murmured.

Her eyes widened slightly. "Izzy?"

He smiled faintly, lifting a hand to brush a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. "Your nickname," he explained. "I've been holding onto it in my head. I guess I couldn't stop myself anymore."

Her lips parted in surprise. No one had ever given her a nickname before. The sound of it, spoken so gently, sent a strange warmth spreading through her.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other, the room silent except for the faint tinkling of the wind chimes outside. Lorenzo's gaze locked onto hers, his ocean-blue eyes soft but intense.

He couldn't ignore the feeling that had been building inside him since the moment they met. Her presence felt like gravity, pulling him closer. The way her silver-white hair caught the faint light, the way her violet eyes shimmered with unspoken emotion—it was all too much.

Isolde's heart raced as she noticed his gaze shift. His eyes lingered on her lips, then flicked back to hers. Her breath hitched, her chest tightening with a mixture of fear and anticipation.

Slowly, he leaned forward, his hand rising to cradle the back of her neck. His touch was warm, firm yet gentle, and she shivered beneath it. She was cold, ethereal, yet at this moment, she felt more alive than ever.

When his lips finally met hers, it was tentative, like the first brush of a flame. Soft and testing, it sent a shiver down her spine. The kiss was gentle at first, hesitant, as though they were both unsure if this was right.

But then the hesitation faded.

Lorenzo's hand tightened slightly on her neck, pulling her closer. The warmth of his lips pressed more firmly against hers, and the kiss deepened. It was no longer tentative but filled with raw emotion—confusion, longing, and something unspoken that had been building between them since the moment they met.

Isolde gasped softly, the sound lost between thier lips. Her fingers, which had been hovering uncertainly by her sides, found thier way to his chest, then slid upward. They rested on his shoulders before she tangled them in his dark hair, tugging him closer as if afraid he might vanish.

Lorenzo groaned against her lips, the sound low and full of need. His other hand moved to her waist, his fingers brushing against the fabric of her dress. He felt the chill of her skin beneath it, but it only fueled the fire inside him.

Her lips were cool, but they felt like a balm to his pain, like something he hadn't realized he was missing. The world around them seemed to fade. The whispers of the wind, faint creaks of the old apartmet—all of it disappeared, leaving only the two of them.

Isolde's mind raced. She barely know him, but it didn't matter. At this moment, nothing mattered except the way his lips moved against hers, the way his touch seemed to ignite something buried deep within her. She felt warmth, strange and unfamiliar, spreading through her chest, filling the emptiness she had carried for so long.

Lorenzo broke the kiss for a brief moment, his forehead resting against hers. Both of them were breathless, their eyes meeting in silver of space between them.

"Isolde..." he whispered, his voice raw, almost broken.

Her name on his lips sent a shiver through her, but before she could respond, he kissed her again. This time, it was fiercer, more urgent. His hand slid from her neck to jaw, his thumb brushing her cheek as though grounding himself in the reality of her presence.

Isolde let herself melt into him, her hands tugging at his hair. She pressed closer, their bodies almost touching. His warmth seeped into her, chasing away the cold that seemed to define her existence. Her fingers tightened as if afraid to let go, afraid this connection would break and leave her adrift once more.

He groaned again, the sound vibrating between them. His lips moved against hers with a growing intensity, speaking a language neither of them fully understood but couldn't resist.

Time seemed to blur, each second streching into eternity. When the finally pulled apart, their breaths mingled in the stillness, and the faint hum of reality returned. Lorenzo's forehead rested against hers, his eyes searching her face.

Her violet eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed. She looked at him as though he had unraveled something inside her she hadn't known was there.

But it didn't last long. At the moment her eyes mets his. Her eyes filled with confusion and worry.

"Lorenzo…" Isolde whispered, her voice trembling.

He looked at her, his eyes filled with confusion and longing. "Izzy, what is it?"

She swallowed hard, her gaze fixed on him. "Your eyes…" she began, her words trailing off.