Chapter 76 Montague & Capulet (8)
Several weeks after the wedding, Juliet felt more alive than ever. Each kiss from Romeo carried a piquant sensation—like the vibrant stir of the first rain on parched earth. Every whispered word and gentle touch felt like verses of poetry woven from wounds that had yet to fully heal.
However, as the days melded into nights, something began to shift within her. It wasn't Romeo that changed, but rather the way Juliet experienced him.
She found she couldn't bear to be far from Romeo, his presence a balm to her spirit.
She couldn't close her eyes and drift into slumber without the melody of his voice echoing in her mind.
She couldn't untangle her thoughts if his gaze wasn't resting upon her, grounding her in the moment.
This was not mere obsession. It was an attachment that entwined like the delicate, whispering roots of a vine.
Softly, they crept from her heart, intertwining with Romeo's very essence, their souls meshing together in an intricate dance.
Fitran cautioned, "Blooded Affection is not a magic that lingers; it grows, much like a parasitic plant, which will begin to take."
"Take what?" she inquired, a cloud of unease settling over her.
"Time. Identity. Choices. Gradually, you will become him, and he will become you—until there is no more love, only a suffocating dependency."
Juliet gazed out of her bedroom window, her heart swelling with a blend of longing and trepidation. There was Romeo, sitting with a book in his hands, radiating calm and tranquility. Yet, amidst his serenity, he would occasionally clutch his head, as though hearing distant whispers that troubled his thoughts.