"Ahhh… curse this fate!" Marian cried, her voice trembling as she rushed outside, desperation guiding her steps. By fortune—or perhaps by fate—she crossed paths with a young lad, Luke, wandering nearby.
He followed her inside, where Rosetta lay trembling, her body seized by invisible torment.
"What has befallen her?" the young lad asked, concern etched upon his face.
"She has been frail since childhood," Marian whispered, her eyes heavy with sorrow.
"Prone to fainting, consumed by pain… We can do nothing but offer her the herbs the villagers spare us, to dull the edge of her suffering. Priests and physicians belong to the wealthy. For us—orphans who toil in a baron's garden—they are but unreachable stars."
Luke lingered a moment, his gaze resting on Rosetta's pale form before he turned to Marian.
"I am Marian," she said quietly. "And this is my sister, Rosetta."
"Luke," he answered with a small nod. "I live next door. Call on me should her suffering return."
Marian managed a faint smile as she guided him to the door. "If only the rumors were true—that we were witches. Then I might wield power, or coin, enough to save her."
Luke departed with a heavy heart, his steps weighed down by sorrow, while Marian returned to her sister's side.
She knelt beside Rosetta, brushing a strand of hair from her pale face.
"What cruel life has she been given?" Marian murmured. "It has not even been a month since blades tore her flesh, and now poison grips her veins…"
She laid her trembling hand above Rosetta's body. A faint green light flickered to life, spilling softly over her sister's form. Slowly, Rosetta's complexion brightened.
For Rosetta bore a curse most merciless of all— to feel the suffering of the boy she had met in the forest… thirteen years ago.
The forest had always been Marian's refuge. Here, where shafts of light slipped through the canopy like broken glass, where the whisper of leaves drowned out the world's cruelty, she could pretend she was safe. Her hands moved with practiced care, plucking herbs from mossy stones, fingertips brushing delicate petals she knew by name.
But tonight, safety betrayed her.
The hair on her nape stiffened. The rustle behind her was not the innocent scurry of a hare. Her heart faltered, then raced. She turned—slowly, unwillingly—as if her body itself resisted seeing what memory already knew.
There she stood.
The witch.
Not the vague nightmare Marian had buried in her mind, but real, solid, her shadow spilling across the forest floor. Her smile was the same as before—sharp, cruel, savoring pain.
"So this is where you're hiding." The witch's voice was honey dipped in venom.
Marian's knees buckled. Her basket of herbs toppled, spilling precious leaves into the dirt. She collapsed onto the damp earth, hands trembling, breath hitching. The years fell away in an instant; she was again that girl on her knees, mocked and powerless.
Her legs refused to obey. She could not rise, could not flee. She bowed her head to the soil, too weak to even meet her tormentor's gaze.
The witch's steps were unhurried. She relished this moment, the way a predator savors the paralysis of its prey. She crouched, her fingers like talons as they seized Marian's chin and forced it upward.
"I've searched every nook, every shadow," she purred. "And who would have thought I'd stumble upon you on a simple stroll?" Her nails dug into skin, and Marian whimpered despite herself.
The witch tilted her head, eyes gleaming with malice. "Where is that arrogant witch you clung to? Did she abandon you? Cast you aside when she realized what you were? Pathetic. I told you once—you were useless. Your precious 'nature magic'? Nothing but parlor tricks. Plants and weeds. That's all you'll ever grow."
Marian's throat tightened, her words caught between a scream and a sob.
"You thought yourself special because she—Rosetta—kept you. You thought yourself worthy. Foolish child. Even heroes abandon dead weight." She released Marian's chin with a shove. Marian slumped forward, hands clawing at the dirt.
"Crawl back to me," the witch hissed. "Grovel. Eat the soil you worship, and perhaps I'll grant you a place at my feet once more."
The forest air trembled. A voice, cold and unwavering, cut through the witch's gloating.
"It has been two hundred years," Rosetta said, her form emerging from shadow. Her presence filled the clearing like stormlight, impossible to ignore. She leaned against an ancient oak, arms crossed, eyes glinting like steel. "And still, you chase Marian. Tell me honestly—what festers in you is not hatred, but love, isn't it?"
The witch startled, a step faltering. The mask of confidence cracked for a heartbeat, then sealed again.
"You're still together?" she spat.
"She is… useful," Rosetta replied, voice dry, almost dismissive. Yet her eyes never left Marian, softening in a way her tone did not betray.
The witch's lips curled. "She's mine. Always has been. I'm only taking back what belonged to me."
"She belongs to no one but herself," Rosetta said, pushing off the tree. Her steps were deliberate, predatory, but her gaze softened only when it fell upon Marian. "Your arrogance blinds you."
Marian covered her face with shaking hands, tears spilling as she whispered apologies to Rosetta, voice cracked with guilt.
The witch, desperate to reclaim dominance, raised her hands, power pooling between her fingers. A coil of magic—dark and writhing—shot toward Rosetta.
But Rosetta did not falter. Two centuries had hardened her. The spell hit, and though her body flinched, she endured, lips pressing into a thin line.
With deliberate calm, Rosetta bent to seize a fallen branch. In her grip, it was no mere stick. Her magic, fierce and unyielding, ran through it until it hummed like tempered steel.
The witch flinched, memory colliding with reality. She remembered the agony Rosetta had inflicted long ago.
Rosetta's eyes narrowed. "Shall we dance again?"
With a cry, she charged. The branch whistled through the air, her strikes sharp, relentless. The witch countered with a blade of manifested mana, its edge glittering like obsidian.
Wood and magic clashed, sparks of green and violet scattering like fireflies.
Rosetta's movements were honed, disciplined. Every strike carried the weight of centuries. The witch, though powerful, faltered in swordplay, her desperation naked.
Snarling, she diverted her magic—not at Rosetta, but at Marian.
"No!" Rosetta roared. She leapt, twisting her body to shield her sister.
Black smoke coiled around her, shackling wrists and ankles, crawling into her lungs. She coughed, gagging, as the curse bound her in place.
The witch froze. She knew the price. Once a curse began, it could not be recalled without cost—eternal suffering, a torment worse than death. Cursing a stronger witch was folly. Yet her hatred burned hotter than reason.
Rosetta strained against the bindings, but they only tightened. They would not release until the caster withdrew them—or until the curse ran its course.
"You've gone too far!" Rosetta's voice shook the clearing. "If this curse falls upon Marian, do you even comprehend what fate awaits you?"
The witch's lips quivered, but she forced a smile.
"You know the price," Rosetta taunted, voice edged with fury.
The witch laughed, the sound brittle, unraveling at the seams. "Better to perish than suffer eternity. At least before I draw my final breath, I'll know it is you— not I—who writhes in agony."
Her hands rose, forming symbols older than memory. Power pulsed, foul and ancient, filling the forest with a suffocating weight.
Rosetta's eyes widened. "You dare—?"
"I dare everything!" the witch shrieked.
The air screamed with them as the curse carved its mark. The ground cracked, trees bent as if bowing to some terrible power. Marian clung to Rosetta's body, sobbing, guilt gnawing her soul.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she whispered over and over, her tears soaking Rosetta's shoulder. "It's my fault, it's always my fault…"
The witch's voice rose in a final incantation:
"With this whisper, I bind you. You will feel the pain of the nearest mortal—
Every wound, every agony, will crawl into your bones,
Will chain itself to your heart,
Will rot your immortal soul.
You who never bled, never broke—
Now taste the torment of the lowly.
Know suffering. Know despair."
Her laughter cracked into a scream as her body collapsed, smoke spilling from her mouth, her essence unraveling.
The moment her hand struck the soil, Rosetta gasped.
A chain of fire coiled around her heart, branding it with invisible iron. She buckled, a cry tearing from her throat.
Somewhere, not far, a boy screamed—the sound raw, jagged, echoing through the night. His pain pierced her like a blade, clawing down her chest. Her body arched, trembling as agony not her own sank into her marrow.
Marian clutched her, helpless, sobbing into her sister's hair.
And in the shadows, the forest seemed to shudder. For a curse had taken root—merciless, binding, eternal.