Chapter 1 Introduction's. I
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Who could forget such a story? Even if the world dares to forget, I—Gato—cannot.
She was framed by the very man she loved.
The court didn't need proof—her shame was enough.
They shaved her head.
Nailed her to the palace gate like a criminal.
A woman who once sat close to the King, now dangled like a curse in front of the people.
Eyes wide, mouth silent.
She died twice—once by betrayal, then by shame.
Death is not when the breath leaves the body.
Real death comes when your name turns to silence,
when your story is buried deeper than your bones.
She died the day love turned its back,
the day the rope kissed her neck
and shame was sewn into her skin.
Yet she lived—
not in glory, but in whispers, in the hushed mouths of mothers warning their daughters,
in the bitter prayers of the betrayed.
They called her a queen of shame,
but queens are not crowned by lies.
She lives in every broken heart that dared to love and paid for it with dignity.
She lives, because we remember.
And so long as memory holds her,
death has no power over her.
This could be the epitaph of her legacy in the novel — maybe engraved on a hidden stone, or recited by someone who finally sees her truth.
"I kissed him like I kissed fate—unknowing, unarmed."
"He kissed me back like a promise made of sand."
"In the court of crows, truth is just meat."
"My love, they killed me for you."
"And you watched—like the coward king you are."
Who knows who uncovered her story but she got her chance to change her story by the form of the story.
I bowed too long, my spine forgot to rise,
Kissed the feet of love, blind to the lies.
Draped in silence, dressed in grace,
I smiled while they spat on my face.
I carried honor like a borrowed crown,
Till the wind of betrayal tore it down.
They watched me fall and called it fate,
Painted my pain as a sinner's trait.
I died not once, but death knew my name,
Each whisper of doubt was a spark to the flame.
They stripped my soul in the court of disgrace,
And nailed my story to a nameless place.
The rope was mercy, the shame was the sword,
My last breath of silence no justice restored.
He stood in the crowd, eyes dry as dust,
The one I loved, the one I'd trust.
A nod would've saved me, a word might suffice,
But deference dies when love pays the price.
And in the hush before my final breath—
I learned betrayal is a colder death.
"To love is to bleed in silence," she might have whispered. But no one listened that day—not even the sun that scorched her broken skin.
Gato closed the novel with trembling fingers. The heat in his chest wasn't grief—it was hate. Hate for Lamphel Selunba—the man who let her die.
Hate for everything he stood for.
And now, that hate had a face.
Parri.
From Lamphel.
Gato's gaze turned sharp—piercing, like a rusted spear pointed at a friend.
Parri raised an eyebrow. "Why are you looking at me like you're about to swallow me whole? Are you really that hungry?"
Gato's voice cracked like dry bamboo, "Why were your Lamphel ancestors so arrogant?"
Parri blinked, half-confused, half-irritated. "Did your grandmother get bumped by our grandfather or something? Is that why you're exploding like a pressure cooker?"
Gato threw the book at him—hard. The pages fluttered like wings of a dying bird.
"Read it! Look at the proof! See it with your own arrogant Lamphel eyes! Your genes don't lie, Parri."
Parri picked up the book, dusted it slowly. He finally understood.
"That's what this is about? A centuries-old story? You're holding a dead woman's ghost against me like I killed her myself?"
From the distance, a bike roared and screeched to a stop.
Ignoring his psychopath freind Parri peeked out the curtain. "Looks like Vasco brought the snacks."
Gato stretched and walked toward the door. "Finally. My stomach's less dramatic than my head today."
As they reached the ground floor, the guy from the bike called out, "Hey, where's James and Alex?"
"They went to Thoi's school," Gato replied with a shrug. "James got a call from his mother. That guy dragged Alex along with him."
Vasco concern, asked. "But What about the opening ceremony of the new hospital?"
"He said something about coming before the speech ends ," Gato added.
"Well, then," Parri said. "Wait outside. I'll pull out the car.?"
Now where are you all heading again?" came the familiar, gentle yet firm voice of an older woman from the kitchen.
"Mom, we're going to brother's hospital opening ceremony," Pari called back, slipping on her shoes at the doorway.
"Ohh, is that so? Then should I tell your father to pick up Rose from school later?"
"Ah, yes please, Mom. I'll be late for sure," Parri replied, adjusting the strap of hir side bag as he glanced at the clock.
"Then Gato, Vasco—you two stay for dinner tonight as well," their mother added, poking her head out, a warm smile spreading across her face.
"Okay, Mom!" both boys chorused brightly. Though they could have called her 'Aunty', they had long since decided that their friend's mother and father were like their own—a bond thicker than mere words.
"Oh, and Mom—add two extra portions for James and Alex too," Parri called out as an afterthought.
"Eh? Those boys too? Alright, alright. More mouths to feed but no trouble. Just make sure you don't race the car like maniacs on the way, understood?" she scolded with the love only a mother could muster, wagging her finger before disappearing upstairs.
As the warm scent of simmering curry lingered in the air behind them, the scene shifted—
On the other side of town, Alex and James were unknowingly starring in a drama more intense than any TV serial.
They had merely set out to visit James's uncle's school, but fate—like a mischievous playwright—had other plans. The rural roads, narrow and winding as the tales of old travelers, conspired against them, and before they knew it—an accident.
Their driver was now in a heated argument with two schoolgirls, the younger of whom glared fiercely as she straddled a battered bicycle.
"Trying to squeeze money out of us, are you? What a cheap trick—ugh! Even the kids these days are as sly as foxes!" the driver spat to the small girl , who is twirling the rusty iron pedal in her hand like a weapon ready to strike.
But her tirade was cut short when her sister, visibly paler and slightly trembling, clutched her arm.
"Sis, please… stop. If you hit his bald head with that iron pedal… there'll be real trouble. Let it go, I beg you…" she pleaded softly, her small hands tugging at the elder's sleeve.
The small girl fell silent, her eyes narrowing. "Whose side are you on?Mine or that greasy old goat's? He insulted me! I swear I'll feel peace only when I break one of his yellow teeth with my fist!" she growled, her tiny frame surprisingly full of fury.
James, watching from their car window, nudged Alex.
"Say... if we step out now, do you think that iron pedal will meet our skulls too?"
Alex smirked. "Can't say for sure. But better safe than sorry. Come on—if we're late, Pari's wrath will make that iron pedal look like a love tap."
"True that," James muttered, leaning forward to honk the horn twice, signaling their driver to wrap things up.
The sudden blare startled the elder girl—she jumped in fright, eyes flashing like a startled cat.
Their driver flinched as well, muttering, "Y-yes, sir… coming, sir," and scurried back to the car like a man escaping judgment. Without looking back, he slipped into the seat and pulled away, leaving the two sisters fuming in a cloud of dust.
"HEY! You bald donkey! Where the hell are you running off to?! Oi! Bastard! Stop right there—!" the elder sister roared after the retreating car, struggling against her sister's grip.
"Sis, please... stop. I was only holding you because I was scared. What if that old man raised his hand? You might have gotten hurt. I just—"
"Tch. Enough already," The elder sister sighed deeply, rubbing her temple as though the world itself was trying her patience. "Push the bike. I'll sit on the back. That's your punishment."
"B-but… you're heavy…"
"What did you just say?!"
"Nothing! Nothing at all!"
"Then push. Quietly."
Back in the car, Alex shook his head, chuckling.
"We really should compensate them, you know."
James grinned devilishly. "Don't worry. They were wearing Uncle's school uniform. I'll check their records later. Maybe offer them a 'Best Road Rage' award."
Alex laughed. "Poor girls. Cursed with short tempers and long iron pedals."
And with that, they sped off—unaware that this chaotic roadside encounter would not be the last time their paths crossed.