CHAPTER 231: THE STATUE OF SORROW

"Of course," Edmund said softly. He gently tucked her hair behind her ear and wiped her face with a clean handkerchief.

Primrose looked up at him and asked, "So ... what do we do now?"

Edmund’s gaze shifted toward the stone temple behind them. "We have to pray before the altar of the Moon Goddess. That’s the tradition."

Primrose simply nodded in response, then followed Edmund as they walked toward the temple entrance. The path was lined with moon-shaped stones, their edges worn down by centuries of footsteps.

As they stepped into the temple, Primrose suddenly felt that the air inside was cooler, and perhaps it was just her imagination, but her exhaustion also seemed to fade little by little as she breathed in the temple air.

They continued walking toward the altar, but just before they reached it, Primrose came to an abrupt stop.

Her eyes had fallen upon a statue standing to the left of the altar, partially hidden in the shadows.

It was the figure of a woman draped in flowing robes, her head bowed, a white veil covering her face. Yet even beneath the shadows, one could still see her lips slightly parted in sorrow, and faint trails of stone-carved tears running down her cheeks.

For some reason, Primrose could feel the sadness and sorrow radiating from the statue. She took a step closer, drawn to it. "What is this statue?" she whispered.

Edmund followed her gaze. "They call her The Mourning Veil."

"The Mourning Veil ..." Primrose reached out to touch the statue.

Her fingers trailed lightly along the edge of the stone veil, just above the curve of the statue’s cheek. The cold marble sent a shiver through her skin, but she didn’t pull away.

"She looks so heartbroken," Primrose whispered. "It’s strange. I’ve never seen a statue that feels so ... alive in its sorrow."

Edmund stood beside her, his expression softening. "Some believe she was once the princess of the werewolf kingdom. Others say she was the holy saintess who devoted her entire life to the gods."

"The gods?" Primrose turned to him in surprise. "Not just the Moon Goddess?"

Edmund nodded slowly, his gaze drifting back to the statue. "Yes. Back then, the Moon Goddess hadn’t been born yet. The world was still watched over by the ancient gods of war, fate, and death. They ruled with power and order, but they didn’t understand love."

Primrose blinked. "Then ... how did the Moon Goddess come to be?"

"They say this woman, whether she was a princess or a saintess, fell deeply in love with a lycan warrior. He was brave and loyal, but fated to die young in battle."

Primrose held her breath, completely captivated by the story. "Then what happened?"

"She tried to bring her lover back by praying," Edmund said. "She prayed to the gods, offered her life in exchange, even walked barefoot across these thousand steps every night. But none of the gods answered her, not even one."

Edmund continued softly, "Even after her feet bled, she still walked to this temple every night. They say she cried for him for three full months, until her tears turned into blood."

Primrose felt a shiver run down her spine.

She glanced at the statue, and suddenly, it didn’t feel like just a sculpture anymore. It felt like a memory carved into stone, a frozen moment of heartbreak so deep it had scarred the world itself.

"Her love and grief shook the balance of the divine realm," Edmund explained. "And from that love, a new goddess was born."

Primrose asked softly, a little unsure, "The Moon Goddess?"

Edmund nodded. "The gods couldn’t understand what she had done. But something in the universe did. Her sorrow, her love, her sacrifice ... all of those feelings gave birth to something new."

"The Moon Goddess wasn’t born from blood, war, or power like the others. She was born from love, something pure and beautiful."

Primrose was silent for a moment. It was the first time she had ever heard this story. She knew of the Moon Goddess, of course, but she had never known where the goddess came from.

She always thought the Moon Goddess had simply existed from the very beginning.

"So ... was that the beginning of why the Moon Goddess started pairing mates together?" Primrose asked.

Edmund nodded slightly. "Many believe the Moon Goddess helps lycans and werewolves recognize their fated mates."

"Because in truth, every soul is already bound to their soulmate, even before they are born into this world," Edmund whispered.

Wasn’t that a little ridiculous?

If they were truly meant to be together, then why had their love story gone so terribly wrong in their first life?

[Sometimes, not every fate ends in happiness.]

Primrose’s eyes widened the moment she heard that voice.

It wasn’t Edmund’s.

She quickly looked around, but there was no one else in sight.

The voice sounded like a woman. It was so soft that Primrose could barely hear it.

Was she just imagining things?

"Is something wrong, my wife?" Edmund asked, sensing her sudden tension.

"Ah ... nothing." Primrose shook her head, trying to convince herself she was just tired and imagining things. "Should we pray at the altar now?"

Edmund gave her a gentle nod. "Yes, let’s pray now."

f.(r)eewe/bnov\ll.com

He reached for her hand, lacing his fingers with hers as they slowly walked together toward the altar of the Moon Goddess Temple.

The golden light of the setting sun streamed through the tall stained-glass windows, casting soft, glowing patterns across the stone floor.

Primrose looked up at the statue of the Moon Goddess.

Unlike the statue of the Mourning Veil, the Moon Goddess wore a serene smile, a smile so gentle and calming, it seemed to comfort everyone who looked upon her.

It wasn’t the smile of joy or victory, but one of reassurance, as if she were saying, "I see your pain. I know your sorrow. But you are not alone."

Primrose found herself staring longer than she meant to. Her chest slowly rose and fell, as if—for the first time in a long while—her heart had found a little peace in the storm.

"She’s beautiful," Primrose whispered.

Edmund followed her gaze and nodded. "Yes, she is. I used to wonder if she ever listened to us ... if she even cared. But standing here with you, I think maybe ... she does."