"Is it the curse? Is it incurable?"
Cherion offered a smile that felt more like a grimace, his lips twitching awkwardly. Behind his tired eyes, he was mentally leafing through the frantic, frantic research he'd conducted over these past nights.
Magic in this world wasn't some ethereal, romantic mist that made people look graceful while casting spells. No. It was more like a badly maintained plumbing system. Everyone was born with their own set of pipes, valves, and mysterious leaks, and Cherion's happened to be the White Vein. Basically, it was magical bleach that cleaned up what needed cleaning. At least he got something useful out of the deal.
He thought back to the text he'd read: The Abridged Introduction to The Anatomy of Curses. The book was a cheerful little read that basically divided blood-magic into three distinct flavors of misery based on the caster's specific brand of malice: Execution, Puppetry, or Agony.
