Capítulo 13: Fuyo
Fuyo was a very young and attractive woman. Her beauty was undeniable, and she never had to pick out boys because, no matter their age, they found her irresistible. With a flick of her hair or a bat of her eyelashes, she could have anyone she wanted. She made sure to choose the best of them, enjoying their company until she grew tired and moved on to the next, repeating this cycle effortlessly.
As the years went by, Fuyo's beauty remained, but she began to notice a subtle decline in the number of admirers vying for her attention. At first, she brushed it off, confident in her allure, but as time went on, her anxiety grew. The once ever-growing crowd of male suitors dwindled, and Fuyo became increasingly obsessed with her future.
Desperate for answers, she began to visit shamans and fortune tellers, anyone who claimed to have the ability to read the future. Each visit filled her with a mix of hope and dread, but the prophecies she received were always the same—dark and foreboding visions of catastrophic events and a future where she was mimed, her voice silenced and her beauty faded.
One evening, Fuyo visited a particularly renowned shaman, known for his unnervingly accurate predictions. The shaman's tent was filled with strange artifacts and the pungent smell of incense. He welcomed her with a knowing gaze, as if he had been expecting her.
"You seek knowledge of your future," he said, his voice low and gravelly. Fuyo nodded, her heart pounding in her chest.
The shaman took her hand and closed his eyes, muttering incantations under his breath. Moments later, he opened his eyes and stared deep into hers, his expression grave. "I see a future where your beauty fades, and your voice is stolen. The charm that once drew men to you will become your curse."
Fuyo recoiled in horror. "What do you mean? How can this be?"
The shaman sighed. "You have lived your life for the attention and admiration of others, but such vanity comes at a price. Your future is dark unless you change your ways."
Determined to defy the grim predictions, Fuyo sought out more shamans, each one confirming the same fate. Her fear turned into desperation, and she began to isolate herself, haunted by the thought of a future where she was powerless and alone.
One night, as she lay in bed, she was awoken by a whispering voice. It was soft, almost inaudible, but it filled her with an eerie sense of dread. She sat up, her eyes scanning the dark room, but saw nothing. The whispering continued, growing louder, more insistent.
"Fuyo," it called, "your beauty will be your downfall."
Terrified, she tried to block out the voice, but it echoed in her mind, relentless and unforgiving. The days that followed were filled with an increasing sense of paranoia. Every reflective surface seemed to mock her with the gradual loss of her youthful charm. Her once vibrant hair began to dull, and the sparkle in her eyes faded.
In a final act of desperation, Fuyo visited an old, decrepit fortune teller who lived on the outskirts of town. The woman was ancient, her face a web of wrinkles, but her eyes were sharp and piercing.
"You seek to escape your fate," the old woman said, not unkindly.
Fuyo nodded, tears streaming down her face. "Please, tell me how to change my future."
The old woman shook her head slowly. "Fate is a cruel mistress, and she does not easily change her mind. But perhaps there is a way for you to avoid the worst of it."
She handed Fuyo a small, ornate mirror. "Look into this mirror every night and reflect on your true self, not the one who seeks validation from others. Find the beauty within that does not fade with time."
Fuyo took the mirror and followed the old woman's advice. Every night, she gazed into it, trying to see beyond her physical appearance.
Fuyo's mirror reflected a more contorted and twisted version of herself—the same horrifying visage that the shamans had described. Her once flawless skin became marred by deep wrinkles and dark spots, her bright eyes dulled, and her luscious hair turned brittle and gray.
The horrifying transformation did not stop there. As her physical beauty deteriorated, Fuyo's voice began to falter. At first, it was just a slight rasp, barely noticeable, but gradually it worsened. Her melodious laughter turned into a harsh croak, and her once enchanting voice became a whispering shadow of its former self.
Panic set in as she realized she was losing the two things she had always relied on: her beauty and her voice. She sought out more shamans, begged for their help, but it was too late. The prophecies had come true, and there was nothing she could do to reverse the curse.
In her despair, Fuyo became a recluse, hiding away from the world that once adored her. The whispers in the dark continued to torment her, and the twisted reflection in the mirror became her constant companion. Her voice, now barely a whisper, could no longer cry out for help.
The fuyo you knew seconds ago is now gone.
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