The Golden Apple He Stole From Me

I’m a mortal priestess, but a Tartarus death curse is killing me.

The only cure is a Golden Apple from Olympus, which blooms once a century to purify a soul.

But my soulmate—Zale, son of Poseidon—snatched my apple away. He fed it to my sister, Melora, just to heal a minor magical burn.

I abandoned my final treatments at the Temple of Apollo. Instead, I drank a vial of Lethe poison, laced with water from the Styx.

It silences all pain.

The price? In three days, my soul will turn to ash. No afterlife. No reincarnation.

In my final three days on earth, I let everything go.

I gave my Healing Temple to Melora. My parents, the high priests, smiled in relief.

When Zale drew the Blade of Olympus to sever our soulmate bond, I gladly offered my heart's blood. He stroked my cheek and praised my “generosity.” As if I’d finally learned my lesson.

I pushed my son, Philon, toward Melora and told him to call her “Mom.” He cheered and threw himself into her arms, crying out that her lullabies were sweeter.

I gave up everything. None of them even noticed I was dying.

They just looked at me proudly. "Our Kressa has finally learned her place."

But I can't help wondering... when I fade into stardust forever, will they even remember me?

Under the pitying gaze of the Apollo priests, I tilted my head back and downed the Lethe poison.

Cold liquid burned my throat. The soul-tearing agony of the Tartarus curse vanished instantly.

A gift of the poison. No more pain.

The catch was that I only had three days left to live. Then, stardust.

Leaving the temple, I went straight to Melora's seaside pavilion.

The moment I pushed the door open, my mother’s screaming hit me.

"How long will you keep up this pathetic act, Kressa? You are perfectly fine!" My mother jabbed a finger toward my face, her eyes filled with a disappointment colder than any anger.

"You are a healing priestess, blessed by the gods themselves! You were always our sweet, compassionate child... How could you stoop so low? Trying to steal your sister's life-saving Golden Apple out of pure, ugly jealousy!"

My father added, his voice thick with bitter disappointment: "Kressa, you have always been the pride of this family. We thought you would cherish Melora, guide her as a sister should. Had we known you were so cold to your own kin, perhaps we never should have spoiled you into such arrogance."

A vise squeezed my chest.

The poison had killed my physical pain, but the grief of being ripped apart by my own family still suffocated me.

These were my parents. They’d rather believe Melora needed a century-old Golden Apple for a trivial scorch mark than believe their own daughter was dying from a death curse.

I looked up.

Melora was leaning weakly against the cushions of her giant pearl-shell bed. But where my parents couldn't see, she smirked at