INTERTWINED

Chapter 1

T.W: DEEP EMOTIONS, PANIC ATTACK

10 years had passed since Haidee De Hay Den's death, and yet—Medeia still remained. 

There.

Still lying beside that beautiful grave. Her emerald eyes fixed on the sea of hyacinths she had planted with her own hands, as if every bloom could somehow bring Haidee back to life. 

As if every petal could fill the emptiness.

In the beginning, Medeia would talk to Haidee. Soft stories, whispered confessions, laughter echoing in the silence where Haidee's voice should've been. 

But time wears down even the strongest voice. Now, Medeia said nothing. She had stopped speaking to the grave long ago.

The pain had become too much.

The kind of pain that grips you, hollowing you out from the inside. The kind that comes from loving someone who can no longer love you back. From reaching out and touching only the cold absence of air.

Medeia could've moved on. She had every right to. Every reason to.

People loved her. Desired her. Worshipped the very ground she walked on. There were women—goddesses in their own right— claiming to be more worldly than Haidee, more alive, more willing to offer their love without conditions. 

And yet...

Medeia didn't want any of them.

She chose silence.

She chose shadows.

She chose to stay with the ghost of a woman who no longer breathed.

Because memory was all that remained. Because memory was all she had left of love.

"Why can't I let you go?" She whispered, though she knew the answer.

Because love, once given, doesn't fade with time. It lingers, like the scent of roses on your skin, even after the petals fall away.

And no matter how many women offered their love, no matter how many hands reached for her, none could ever replace her wife. Haidee.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to the wind, as if it could carry her apology to the one woman she could never forget.

Karis, hidden just behind the shadow of a nearby tree, watched silently. Her heart ached. She didn't approach. Not yet. But the words were like knives to her own soul.

She could feel Medeia's pain, raw and unyielding, like a force of nature. She knew that pain. She'd lived it, and yet... somehow, it hurt even more to see it in her daughter's eyes.

Karis clenched her fists, fighting the overwhelming urge to reach out, to comfort her daughter. But she stayed still, hiding in the dark—where she belonged. 

After all, she had never been chosen, not by the woman she loved, nor by the daughter she'd left behind.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Fragile 

Once Karis learned that Medeia had fainted in the royal garden, her heart clenched with panic. She didn't wait for anyone, didn't think about anything except getting to her daughter as fast as she could.

The halls of the palace blurred as she rushed through them, her feet carrying her without hesitation, her breath shallow and ragged. When she burst through the door of the Empress' chamber, her eyes immediately locked on Medeia, lying so still on the bed, surrounded by royal physicians. The moment the doctors saw her, they rose and bowed, their expressions respectful but weary as they exited the room.