The last Cursewright

The girl was always silent.

Every evening, she'd step onto the circular stage at the center of the Velvet Veil, dance with elegance and beauty, beat a few degenerates who tried to get too close, then leave without a word. It became routine. She never stayed to drink, never mingled. Just danced. She was a phantom of allure and grace.

Azel watched her every day from the same spot. He didn't miss a single performance. Her black hair shimmered under the dull lighting, her movements crisp and calculated, graceful and mesmerizing. Her shawl hid most of her face, but those black eyes held something deeper—melancholy, strength, and a kind of distant longing. She was stunning. A woman kings would fight wars for. Yet she stayed here, dancing for commoners and drunks.

Why?

She could've secured a lavish life with any noble or rich merchant in Patel. But instead, she performed here, night after night, facing fools and fending off creeps. Azel couldn't understand it at first, but slowly, as he studied her steps, her patterns, he began to see it.

"It seems she wants someone strong enough to match her. This is her way of finding them. Maybe she has to settle some score."

Azel muttered one night, watching her move across the stage.

Forbanna, in her usual sardonic tone, scoffed.

"Or maybe she's just trying to find a husband. Ever think of that? She dances like a goddess but always alone. Maybe she's just lonely."

He didn't answer. But it was possible. Whether it was Forbanna's theory or his, the fact remained—the woman was waiting for someone. And no one had ever managed to beat her in dance.

But Azel had been watching. Learning. Studying. In just a few days, he'd learned the rhythm of her dance. Every turn. Every pivot. Now, it was time to learn how to counter it.

That night, after her performance, Azel stood and prepared to leave when a reeking man staggered up to him. His breath was alcohol and vomit.

"Oi! you watchin' her every damn night, boy. You think you got a shot or somethin'?"

A drunk man slurred staring at him.

Azel frowned.

"What do you want?"

The man chuckled and leaned in, eyes bloodshot.

"Maybe you wanna dance with her too, eh? Heh. Good luck. I'd rather r**e her myself than try."

Azel's glare sharpened instantly. His voice turned cold.

"Say that again."

The man raised his hands in mock surrender.

"Relax, relax. Just sayin'. She ain't easy prey. But I got somethin' that'll help."

He fished a worn scroll from his ragged coat and dangled it in front of Azel.

"This has the counter steps to that little dance of hers. Dothract mixed with Pulsar. That's what she dances. Came from east Patel two years ago. Real exotic stuff."

Azel narrowed his eyes.

"Where did you get that?"

"Anyone who knows east Patel culture knows it. It's not a secret. She just makes it look new. She fused two old styles, but she ain't the first."

"Then why hasn't anyone beaten her yet?"

The drunk laughed again.

"Because just knowin' the moves don't mean jack if you ain't strong. You need precision, timing, and power. That girl's got all three. Everyone else just has beer and balls."

Azel looked at the scroll.

"Ten gold. Take it or leave it."

Azel paused. He had twelve gold coins left. His entire savings. He wasn't sure if this was a scam, but something inside him whispered.

'This might be worth it.'

He handed the man the coins.

"You won't regret it."

The drunk said with a toothy grin, shuffling away into the shadows.

Azel walked back to his inn, heart beating faster than usual. He unrolled the scroll and read the steps carefully. They were precise, written in an older dialect but understandable. Each movement broken down into frames. He even recognized some of her unique spins.

"He probably scammed you."

Forbanna muttered.

"Huh?"

"If it's that popular, you could've bought the same thing from a store. That guy saw your face, knew you were obsessed."

Azel blinked.

"Shit."

Forbanna sighed heavily.

"Honestly."

Still, he didn't regret it. Whether scam or not, the steps were useful. Over the next few days, he practiced religiously in his room, following every counter, every pivot, memorizing transitions and motions. It wasn't enough to copy her. He had to outshine her. Dominate her stage.

Every night, he returned to the Velvet Veil to observe her. Every night, she danced the same way. Alone. Untouched.

Until tonight.

Azel stood from his usual chair.

"You ready?"

Forbanna asked.

He didn't respond.

His eyes were on her.

She began her dance, the music swelling as her body moved like silk through fire. The crowd cheered. Azel stepped forward, his boots echoing against the wooden floor. Whispers broke out around him.

Was someone really challenging her?

She didn't stop dancing, but her eyes met his.

No words were exchanged.

But he knew.

She was waiting for this.

And now, he was ready to give her.