In the dimly lit room, a girl with a body as fragile as porcelain stood, her rare and hauntingly beautiful eyes the color of stormy seas, gazing at the dagger clutched in her trembling hand. Her wrist, marked with scars of battles both internal and external, held the blade poised in the faint glow of moonlight. Her gaunt face bore the weight of countless sorrows, and her eyes, though striking, told a story of profound sadness.

She stood there, a fragile vessel of a troubled soul, weary and emotionless as she contemplated the abyss that had become her existence. The dagger's cold steel pressing against her wrist, she muttered to herself in a voice that barely rose above a whisper,

 "Am I that different? Is it only me?"

 Each word carried the weight of a lifetime of solitude and inner turmoil.

She continued to apply pressure to the blade until it began to sting, a solitary tear escaping from her eye, its salty trail mingling with the metallic taste of despair. Slowly, she slid down to the cold, unforgiving floor, her eyelids drooping like curtains closing on a desolate scene. In her heart, she held a painful question that seemed to echo in the empty corners of her mind,

 "Who will care?"

The room bore witness to her silent suffering, and the answer remained elusive, lost in the shadows that enveloped her.

"BANGG!!!"

The sudden, jarring sound of a door being forced open shattered the eerie silence of the room. The fragile girl, her body growing colder by the moment, lay helpless as an intruder barged into her sanctuary.

Their eyes widened in terror, their mouth agape in a silent plea for mercy. Gasping for breath, the girl fragile form trembled in the presence of the unknown assailant. But, weakened beyond measure, she slipped into unconsciousness, her world descending into darkness as the intruder's intentions remained shrouded in mystery.

Akia Trogiaand,

the unexpected visitor who had burst into the room, watched in shock as the fragile girl slipped into unconsciousness. Overwhelmed with concern and panic, he knelt by the fallen figure, tears streaming down his face.

"Someone calls the doctor, healer, or something! Please, someone, please!!"

Akia's voice trembled with desperation as he cried out for help, his pleas echoing through the room. In this moment of crisis, he could only hope that someone would come to the aid of the fragile soul lying before him.

"Why did you do this, Al."

He whispered, his voice heavy with emotion

Al? Yes, that's the name.. Ames Alaric Dradevows.

As Akia struggled to lift her onto the bed, tears still streaming down his face, he couldn't help but voice his anguish. Akia who is only 158cm and a slim body carried her with difficulty. Holding Ames's palm he continues to sob..

A servant rushed into the room at Akia's desperate call, and with a sense of relief, Akia turned his attention to the newcomer.

"Young lord, the healer is here," the servant informed, and Akia nodded, his grip on Ames's palm unwavering.

"Please treat her," Akia pleaded, his eyes never leaving Ames's fragile form. The healer, with a mix of shock and concern in his eyes, stepped forward, ready to do his best to restore the life that hung in the balance.

"I'll try"

As the healer began his work, Akia remained by Ames's side, his grip on Ames's hand unwavering. He watched with a mixture of hope and trepidation as the healer assessed the fragile man's condition.

The room was filled with tension as the healer's skilled hands moved with purpose. He examined Ames's wrist, where the blade had pressed, and carefully tended to the wound. With each passing moment, Akia's anxiety deepened, and he couldn't help but replay the events that had unfolded in his mind.

After what felt like an eternity, the healer looked up from his work and met Akia's anxious gaze.

 "She's stable for now," he said, his voice carrying a note of relief.

 "But it will take time for her to regain consciousness fully. We must keep a close watch over her."

Akia nodded, his gratitude toward the healer evident in his eyes. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion.

As they waited for Ames to awaken, Akia couldn't shake the question that had haunted him since he'd entered the room.

"Why did you do this, Al?"

 he murmured softly, more to himself than anyone else. It was a question that hung in the air, unanswered and heavy with unspoken truths.

The room remained cloaked in uncertainty, the fragile girl's fate still uncertain as she lay there, caught between the realms of consciousness and unconsciousness.

Hours passed in anxious vigil as Akia and the healer remained by Ames's side. The room, once filled with tension, began to feel like a sanctuary of hope. The healer continued to tend to Ames's injuries, his skilled hands working diligently to ensure that the fragile man's condition remained stable.

Akia, lost in his thoughts, couldn't help but wonder about Ames's pain. What had driven her to such a desperate act? The room bore the weight of unanswered questions, and Akia's heart ached with the burden of not knowing.

As dawn broke, the first rays of sunlight began to filter through the curtains, casting a warm and gentle glow over the room. It was in this fragile moment of transition from night to day that Ames stirred. Her eyelids fluttered, and a faint **** escaped her lips.

Akia's heart leaped with hope as he leaned in closer, his eyes fixed on Ames's awakening form. The healer, too, noticed the change and quickly moved to Ames's side.

"Easy now," the healer said soothingly, his voice filled with reassurance. "You're going to be all right."

Ames's eyes slowly opened, revealing a mixture of confusion and vulnerability. She blinked several times, as if trying to make sense of her surroundings.

"Where... am I?" she whispered, her voice weak and filled with uncertainty.

"You're safe," Akia replied gently, relief washing over her. "You're in your room, Ames."

Ames's gaze locked onto Akia's, and for a moment, they simply stared at each other, their unspoken connection palpable. The room held its breath as Ames began to piece together the fragments of her memory, her eyes reflecting the pain that had led her to that fateful moment.

The healer continued to monitor Ames, ensuring that her recovery was progressing as it should. As Ames regained her strength, Akia knew that the answers to the questions that had haunted him would eventually come to light.

For now, in the quiet of that room bathed in the soft morning light, there was hope, a fragile but undeniable hope that they could find their way through the darkness that had brought them to this moment.

Hours turned into days as Ames, a member of the esteemed Royal family of Astoria, lay on the cusp of life and death. Despite her lineage, the grandeur of her family name, and the vast kingdom they ruled, there was an eerie silence in the palace. No one came to visit her, no concerned family members, no well-wishers, not even courtiers or advisors.

The stark reality of her isolation didn't seem to affect Ames. In her weakened state, she hardly registered the absence of visitors. It was as if the grandeur of the palace walls had imprisoned her in a world of her own making, far removed from the political intrigues and obligations that typically surrounded her family.

Ames drifted in and out of consciousness, her thoughts a jumble of memories, regrets, and a deep-seated resentment towards her family. For years, she had strived to earn their love and approval, to play her part in the intricate tapestry of the House of Dradevows. But now, as she lay on the brink of death, she couldn't help but feel a burning hatred for them, for their indifference and their expectations.

The silence was both a blessing and a curse, for it allowed her to ponder the meaning of her existence without the pressures of her station. She had always been the dutiful daughter, the obedient princess, but it had never been enough. Her family's love had always been conditional, and she had grown weary of trying to meet their impossible standards.

Outside her room, the palace bustled with activity, oblivious to the fragile soul within. The royal name of her family, the prestigious House of Veridian, seemed to have lost its power to rally support in her time of need.

Ames's predicament was, in part, a reflection of the complex dynamics within the royal court. The House of Dradevows, while influential and powerful, had its share of internal strife and political rivalries. Her own reluctance to participate in the court's machinations had distanced her from both allies and adversaries.

As Ames teetered on the precipice of life, she remained cocooned in solitude, a reflection of the inner turmoil that had led her to that fateful moment, where she questioned not only her worth but the very fabric of her existence.

In the dimly lit room, her gaze often drifted to a portrait on the wall, a depiction of her ancestors who had ruled the kingdom with strength and wisdom. They had left behind a legacy that she struggled to uphold. It was a legacy of duty, honor, and responsibility, a legacy that seemed increasingly burdensome.

The days turned into weeks, and still, no one from the House of Dradevows came to visit her. The silence became deafening, and yet, Ames found herself embracing it. She had grown weary of the never-ending feuds and negotiations, the palace intrigue that had consumed her life. The isolation gave her a reprieve from it all, even if it meant facing her own mortality.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across her room, Ames whispered to the empty space,

 "Is this the price of being royal? To live and die alone? Perhaps it's time to break free from these chains that bind me to a family I can no longer bear."

Her voice, barely audible, echoed in the stillness of her chamber. There was no response, no comforting words from a concerned relative or loyal subject. It was then that Ames realized the true cost of her detachment.

Unbeknownst to her, behind the close door, a mysterious figure had been listening to her every word. A pair of eyes, filled with intrigue and curiosity, watched Ames with keen interest. The figure remained concealed, a silent observer of the princess's inner turmoil.

Yet, even in her solitude, there was a flicker of determination in her eyes. She could not deny her royal blood, the responsibility that came with her birthright. In the quiet moments of contemplation, she found the strength to confront her inner demons and resolve to reclaim her place in the world.

The path ahead remained uncertain, but Ames had rediscovered a sense of purpose, a fire within her that refused to be extinguished. With each passing day, she inched closer to recovery, both physically and emotionally, ready to face the challenges that awaited her as a member of the House of Dradevows, the royal family that had almost lost one of its own to the silence of indifference.