Theodore sat at the library's reading table, the soft rustling of pages the only sound in the heavy silence. His family had just left him alone, their concern still hanging in the air like the lingering warmth of their embrace. He could still feel their hands on his shoulders, the soft press of their love and care, as if reminding him that he wasn't alone in this. Yet, despite their presence, a quiet weight lingered on his chest, one that had been there for months now, pulling at him in ways he couldn't fully explain.
He looked at the book in front of him again, the words now seeming distant and unclear. The knowledge he had sought with such fervor—the maps of Eryndor, the histories, the lore—felt irrelevant now. None of it helped explain the tightness in his chest, the constant fog that clouded his thoughts. He had thought it was just part of the journey, the growing pains of understanding a vast and complex world, but now… now something didn't sit right.
What if it wasn't just him? What if this feeling, this darkness creeping into his mind, was something outside of him? Something put there?
The idea came slowly, almost imperceptibly, like the soft murmur of a distant thought. But once it was there, it wouldn't leave. He sat back in his chair, staring at the thick tome in his hands, and let the idea settle more firmly. It wasn't impossible, was it?
The idea of a curse seemed ridiculous at first—almost laughable. Theodore had never been the type to believe in superstitions or old stories. Magic was real, yes, but curses? That felt too ancient, too far removed from the world he knew. But the more he thought about it, the more the pieces of his reality began to seem… misaligned. Something had changed in him, something subtle but undeniable.
He couldn't ignore it.
His thoughts drifted back to the moments when it had all begun to spiral. When had it started? He'd always been a curious soul, eager to learn, to explore, but there had been a slow shift—a growing heaviness that started just after the fateful night of the new moon, the one when he'd gone to the library and stayed up too late, reading far more than he should have. It was subtle, at first—a quiet fatigue that never quite left, a gnawing sense of confusion that clouded his thinking. But then, it grew.
Theodore exhaled, his breath slow, steady. He wasn't sure if it was a curse, or if his mind had simply been overwhelmed. He wanted to be logical, to find a rational explanation for all of this. And maybe there was one. Maybe the weight of all the knowledge he had been absorbing was just too much. Maybe it had worn him down in ways he couldn't yet comprehend.
"But I don't know, he thought, shaking his head lightly. I don't know what this is. I don't know why it's here."
The quiet in the library felt less oppressive now, more like a steady companion to his thoughts. He took another deep breath, feeling his shoulders slowly release the tension that had built up there. No, he wasn't sure what was happening to him, but he wasn't ready to jump to conclusions. Not yet.
Still, the idea of a curse, a subtle manipulation of his mind, wouldn't leave him. He thought back to the dreams, the whispers that seemed to curl through his consciousness, bending his thoughts. They had been so vivid, too real to be simple nightmares. There was a weight to them, a presence behind them, like someone—or something—was watching, waiting, twisting the fabric of his thoughts until they grew dark and tangled.
But curses weren't common, and curses on a person's mind? That seemed even less likely. No one in his family had ever spoken of anything like that happening to them. It was absurd. And yet…
"What if I'm just overthinking? The thought came gently, as though trying to reassure him. Maybe this is just a phase. Maybe it's the pressure of everything happening at once—the uncertainty of the world, the unknown. I've never been this far out of my depth before."
He paused, rubbing his temples slowly. It didn't help to get ahead of himself. What good would it do to sit here and spin tales in his head? He needed to focus, to look at what was in front of him. All these theories, all this wondering—it wasn't going to solve anything. He needed clarity, and that would come only if he approached this carefully.
The idea of a curse hadn't come from nowhere. There had to be some reason his thoughts had turned this way. But just because something felt real didn't mean it was. Magic, curses—they weren't simple. They took time, skill, and intention. They didn't just happen without purpose.
Theodore's eyes drifted back to the pages of the book in front of him, the faded ink speaking of magic, of power, of dark sorcerers who used their craft to twist minds and control fates. He skimmed through the words, but something told him it wasn't the magic itself that was important, not right now. It was the idea—the idea that maybe there was an explanation out there, something hidden, something he had overlooked.
The question was: How do I find the truth without assuming the worst?
Taking another slow breath, Theodore closed the book and set it aside, gently. His thoughts were too jumbled for this now, too tangled in worry. Maybe it wasn't a curse at all, maybe it was simply that he had stretched himself too thin—his hunger for knowledge, his desire to make sense of everything, had pushed him to his limits. It had to be that.
He exhaled, feeling a little calmer with each breath. There was no use in jumping to conclusions. He needed to focus, to think clearly. He couldn't allow the weight of fear or superstition to guide him; he had to approach this with the same careful logic he had always used in his studies. The truth would come, eventually. And if it turned out there was something more to this darkness inside him, something outside of his control, then he would face it—but he wouldn't do so out of fear.
Just then, he heard the soft creak of the door opening. Lucian's voice, quieter this time, called from the hallway, "Theo? Dinner's ready."
Theodore stood, smoothing his clothes as he felt his pulse settle, the storm inside him calming. He would think more on this later. For now, he didn't need to carry the weight of all his thoughts alone. There were other ways to find answers, other paths he could walk. He didn't need to rush.
He gave one last glance to the quiet bookshelves and nodded to himself.
"I'll be there in a moment," he called back, his voice steady, even if the unease still lingered like an echo.
His family, waiting for him at dinner, would be there, just as they always were. And maybe, for now, that was enough.
But the question still remained, quietly gnawing at the back of his mind: What if this darkness wasn't just in his mind?
And the most important question...if the curse acted like a conduit to channel negative thoughts into him and drive him to suicide...who wants him dead
And why?
But who would curse me? Theodore thought, the question both simple and terrifying. Why me?
He let out a deep breath, rubbing his eyes, trying to clear his head. It wasn't that he believed in curses entirely, but the more he considered it, the more likely it seemed. And there was one thing about curses that stuck with him, something he had learned from his readings: curses could be reversed, broken—but only if you knew what was causing them.
The first step, he knew, would be to understand what he was facing. What kind of magic would leave him feeling so helpless, so lost? He needed to do more research, to gather more knowledge. But there was another problem: if it was a curse, then who could he trust?
Theodore let his eyes fall to the pages of the book again, this time looking for more concrete signs. He read about mind-bending curses, curses that affected emotions, that twisted reality. He found a passage about the Wraithbind, a cursed enchantment that could wrap around a person's thoughts like a veil, blocking them from seeing the truth of their own mind. According to the book, those under the Wraithbind often experienced feelings of isolation, confusion, and despair, which, over time, deepened into depression. It was said that the curse could cloud the mind so completely that the victim didn't even realize they were under its influence until it was too late. The more he read, the more the symptoms matched what he had been experiencing.
Theodore frowned, turning the page more quickly, scanning for anything else that might fit. He felt his breath catch when he saw the words Shadowbinders mentioned again.
These dark mages were rumored to possess the ability to cast curses that weren't just about physical pain, but emotional destruction—manipulating memories, turning joy into sorrow, hope into despair. It wasn't just about controlling a person's body; it was about controlling their very soul. Was this what had happened to him?
The idea was terrifying. The thought that someone could reach into his very mind, to mold his thoughts, his emotions—without him even realizing it—made his skin crawl. What if it had been one of the Shadowbinders, or someone even more secretive, who had placed this curse on him? But why? He wasn't important enough to be targeted by such powerful figures, was he?
Then another thought struck him: Could it be one of the old enemies of our family?
Lucian and Dorian had made enemies over the years, enemies who might seek revenge, enemies who might use forbidden magic against their bloodline. But again, Theodore was left with more questions than answers. Who would benefit from a curse like this? And why him? What had he done to deserve this?
Theodore leaned back in his chair, closing the book with a soft snap. His thoughts were spinning again, too many questions with no clear answers. But the more he considered the idea of a curse, the more certain he became that there was something off about his situation. Something had changed in him, something he couldn't explain. Whether it was dark magic or the slow unraveling of his own mind, he couldn't say yet. But it was something.
Theodore's hand lingered on the book's cover, a quiet resolve building within him. I can't let this consume me, he thought. I need to understand what's happening. I need to find the truth.
But in order to do that, he knew he had to be careful. Curses weren't always as straightforward as they seemed. He couldn't go barging into his family's affairs, suspecting magic at every turn. But at the same time, he couldn't ignore the signs. If he was cursed, he needed to know, needed to find out how to break it—if it could even be broken at all.
Taking a deep breath, he stood up from the table and walked toward the door.
The dinner would wait. The questions about his own mind would have to wait.
But the journey to find the truth had already begun.
"Theo?"
The voice was familiar, soft, yet filled with the gentle authority that only Lucian could carry. Theodore turned to find his older brother standing in the doorway, a slight frown on his face. Lucian's tall frame filled the doorway, and his warm, golden eyes reflected concern—not just for him, but for something more, something deeper that Theodore wasn't sure he could yet articulate.
"Dinner's ready," Lucian continued, stepping into the room with quiet steps, his tone inviting but also tinged with the unmistakable worry that had been so present in their family ever since Theodore's recent struggles. "Mom's been waiting for you. You know how she gets when you're late to the table."
The playful lightness in his voice didn't quite reach his eyes, which held a depth of concern that couldn't be hidden, no matter how casually Lucian tried to speak. Theodore had always known his older brother to be calm, steady, the one who always seemed to have everything under control. But in recent weeks, there had been a noticeable shift. Lucian had been more watchful, more distant, as if he were waiting for something, bracing for something. For Theodore.
Theodore smiled faintly, but it didn't quite reach his eyes either. He closed the book gently and placed it back on the shelf, his fingers lingering on its worn spine for a moment longer than necessary.
"I'll be there in a minute," Theodore replied softly, trying to keep his voice steady.
Lucian paused for a moment, standing in the doorway, watching his younger brother with an unreadable expression. He seemed to consider saying something more—something about how Theodore had been lately, how they had all been walking on eggshells around him—but instead, he just sighed and stepped fully into the room. He leaned against one of the wooden bookcases, his arms crossed, his gaze never leaving Theodore's face.
"You're not fooling anyone, you know," Lucian said, his voice low and gentle, almost as if he were treading carefully around something fragile. "I know you've been... struggling." He let the words hang in the air, acknowledging the unspoken, the things they had all been pretending not to notice.
Theodore stiffened, feeling the familiar tightness in his chest. He wanted to say something dismissive, something to reassure his brother that he was fine, that it was just a phase. But the words stuck in his throat. He couldn't lie—not to Lucian, not now.
Lucian's gaze softened slightly, his features relaxing. "I know you're not okay, Theo."
Theodore looked at him for a long moment, struggling to find the right words, to make sense of what was happening inside him. He wanted to tell Lucian everything—about the curse, the strange thoughts, the fear that had been crawling beneath his skin. But the words wouldn't come. He couldn't explain it all, not yet. Not to Lucian, not to anyone.
Instead, he exhaled slowly and offered a small, tired smile. "I just need a little time to think, Lucian."
Lucian didn't press him further, though the concern in his eyes deepened. He pushed off the bookcase and walked toward his brother. "I get it." He paused, glancing at the bookshelves, his fingers brushing lightly against one of the leather-bound volumes. "But don't shut us out. We're your family, Theo. You don't have to carry all of this alone."
Theodore's breath caught in his chest at the vulnerability in his brother's words. He knew Lucian was right. He knew he didn't have to carry the weight of it all on his own. But admitting that to Lucian—admitting that there might be something outside his control, something he couldn't fix—felt terrifying.
"We'll be here when you're ready," Lucian added softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The world outside the library seemed distant, almost irrelevant in the heavy silence between them. Finally, Lucian gave a small, understanding nod.
"Come on. Dinner's getting cold. Mom's probably wondering if we've lost you for good in here." He chuckled, though the sound didn't quite reach his eyes.
Theodore couldn't help but chuckle back, if only slightly. "I'll be right there."
Lucian lingered in the doorway, still watching him for a moment longer, before he nodded once more and left, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
Theodore exhaled slowly, feeling a mix of relief and guilt. Lucian was right. He wasn't alone. He turned his attention back to the book on the shelf, the words now a blur of ink on the page. His mind was still consumed with the idea of a curse. The more he thought about it, the more the possibility made sense. Could it have been placed on him subtly, woven into his life so gradually that he hadn't noticed? A curse wasn't always obvious. It didn't have to be a loud, aggressive force. Sometimes, it was quiet. It was a persistent shadow, pulling at the edges of the mind until everything seemed to bend toward despair.
The question was: What now?
He could talk to his family, confide in them about what he suspected. But would they believe him? And if he was right—if this was a curse—how could they help him?
The more Theodore thought, the more his head began to throb. He needed answers. He needed to understand what was happening to him before it consumed him entirely.
Taking a deep breath, he stood up, wiping his palms on his trousers as if to rid himself of the anxiety that clung to him. It was time to stop overthinking for a while. Lucian was right—his family was waiting. Dinner was a simple thing, but maybe, for now, it could be a way to remind himself of the things that still felt real.
With one last, lingering glance at the bookshelves, Theodore walked out of the library, his steps measured, his mind still tangled in doubts, but for the first time in a while, he didn't feel entirely alone.
Not yet.
As he made his way toward the dining hall, the sound of laughter and the scent of cooked food drifted toward him, a welcome distraction from the storm of thoughts in his head.
Tonight, at least, he would try to be present. Try to push aside the fears that had plagued him and remember that, for now, there were still those who cared for him, still a world outside of the curse he was trying to unravel.
And maybe, just maybe, that was enough. For tonight.