The candles flickered as I carved the final sigil into my palm, blood pooling in the ancient symbol that had marked my family for seven generations. This was it. After tonight, the curse would be broken, and I could finally live without the constant drain on my life force, without waking up each morning feeling like death was one step closer. "You're doing beautifully, Mira," Kieran said from across the ritual circle, his silver eyes reflecting the candlelight. He was the only mage powerful enough to help me break this curse, the only one willing to try. I'd searched for three years before finding him. I pressed my bleeding palm against the obsidian altar between us. "I can feel it working. The pressure in my chest—it's lifting." Kieran smiled, but something about it made my skin prickle. "Oh, it's definitely working." He began chanting in the old language, words that resonated in my bones. The air grew thick with power, and I felt the curse writhing inside me like a living thing, desperate to maintain its hold. Pain seared through every nerve as the magic worked to extract it. Then Kieran's words changed. I didn't speak the old tongue fluently, but I'd memorized every syllable of the breaking ritual. These weren't the right words. These were— "What are you doing?" I gasped, trying to pull my hand away. It was stuck to the altar as if welded there. "Finishing what I was hired to do." Kieran's voice remained calm, almost bored. He pulled a second grimoire from his bag—not the one we'd been working from. "Did you really think I'd help you out of the goodness of my heart?" The curse that had been lifting suddenly slammed back into me with triple the force. I screamed as it burrowed deeper, spreading like poison through my veins. But worse—I could feel the curse from the rest of my bloodline being drawn toward me, converging, consolidating. "Stop! You're killing me!" "Not killing. Concentrating." He turned a page, continuing his counter-ritual. "Your family's curse was spread across twelve living members. Manageable for each of you. But focused in one vessel? That's when it becomes truly powerful." Through my agony, I noticed movement in the shadows. Three figures stepped into the candlelight—Kieran's colleagues, I assumed. They watched with clinical interest, one of them taking notes. "Why?" I choked out. "Because Lyssa asked me to." The name hit me like a physical blow. Lyssa. The spirit medium my family had protected for generations. The woman we'd sheltered, funded, hidden from those who would exploit her gifts. She was like a sister to me. "No. Lyssa wouldn't—" "Wouldn't ask me to torture you?" Kieran raised an eyebrow. "She was very specific about it, actually. Apparently, suffering enhances her visions. The more pain you're in, the clearer she can see. And your family curse, concentrated entirely in you? That's a wellspring of agony she can tap into whenever she needs a boost." My vision blurred with tears and pain. "She told you to do this?" "She paid me to do this." He gestured to his colleagues. "We don't come cheap, but apparently your family's medium has been squirreling away quite the fortune from her private readings." The curse tightened around my heart, and I felt my life force beginning to drain at an accelerated rate. At this concentration, I'd have maybe five years. Ten if I was lucky. "Please," I whispered. "Reverse it. I'll pay you double." Kieran shook his head. "Contract's already fulfilled. Besides, even if I wanted to help you now, the ritual's locked. Only Lyssa can release you, and somehow I don't think she will." The candles extinguished all at once, plunging us into darkness. ---