“The Mark of the Cursed”

The mark burns against my skin, even though no one is touching it.

I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at my reflection, my fingers hovering over the scar on my shoulder. It’s always been there. Since I was a child. A strange, twisted mark, like something carved into my skin before I was even born.

And now I know Ivy Monroe has the same one.

That isn’t a coincidence.

“Damian,” I say, turning toward him. “I need answers. Now.”

He’s standing near the doorway, arms crossed, his sharp blue eyes unreadable. He hasn’t said much since Ivy left the room, but I know that he knows more than he’s telling me.

Finally, after a long pause, he exhales. “I know someone who might be able to help.”

I frown. “Who?”

Damian hesitates. Then he pushes off the wall, grabbing his coat. “Come with me.”

The drive is long and silent.

Damian doesn’t tell me where we’re going, and I don’t ask. I just watch the city lights flicker past the window, my mind racing with everything I’ve learned.

By the time we reach our destination, we’re on the outskirts of the city, in an area so isolated it doesn’t even have streetlights.

Damian parks in front of a small, crumbling house, barely standing on its foundation. The windows are cracked, the paint peeling.

I step out of the car, frowning.

“You brought me here for answers?”

Damian nods. “She knows things no one else does.”

I follow him up the steps, my boots crunching against the worn wooden floorboards. Damian knocks once.

Silence.

Then, the door creaks open.

An old woman stands there, wrapped in a heavy shawl, her skin wrinkled like paper, her eyes cloudy but too sharp for someone her age. Her silver hair is pulled back into a loose braid, and she smells like smoke and dried herbs.

The moment she sees me, she freezes.

Her gaze locks onto mine, her entire body stiffening.

I feel a chill run down my spine. She knows me. Before I can speak, she whispers, “You should be dead.”

The words hit me like a punch. I take a step back, my heart pounding. “What?”

She shakes her head, muttering something under her breath, then looks at Damian. “You brought her here? Are you insane?”

Damian’s expression hardens. “She deserves to know the truth, Helene.”

The woman—Helene—turns back to me, her cloudy eyes narrowing. “You don’t know what you are, do you?”

I force myself to stand my ground. “No. But I think you do.”

She exhales slowly, then gestures for us to come inside.

The inside of the house smells of burning wood and something older. Herbs hang from the ceiling, dried flowers covering the walls. The place feels ancient, untouched by time.

Helene lowers herself into a wooden chair by the fireplace, her hands trembling slightly as she stirs the embers with a long iron rod.

Then, she looks at me.

“Your family and Ivy Monroe’s family were never meant to exist at the same time.”

I blink. “What?”

She sighs. “Long ago, two rival families ruled over the supernatural world. One family believed in fate, in order. The other believed in chaos, in rewriting destiny. They hated each other, waged war for centuries. Until one day, an agreement was made.”

I glance at Damian, but he’s listening intently, his expression unreadable.

Helene continues. “To stop the bloodshed, a ritual was performed. A deal was made with something… dark. A curse was placed upon both families.”

A cold feeling settles in my stomach. “What kind of curse?”

Her gaze sharpens. “That whenever two children were born under the same bloodline—marked by fate itself—one would have to die for the other to live.”

The air leaves my lungs. No. No, that’s not possible.

I shake my head, not wanting to believe it. “You’re telling me Ivy and I were both marked at birth. That one of us… has to die?”

Helene nods solemnly. “It’s already been decided. You just haven’t realized it yet.”

A sharp pain blooms in my chest.

I look at Damian, searching his face for anything—denial, reassurance.

But he’s silent. Because he already knew. Of course he did.

I take a step back, my hands shaking. “This is insane. There’s no way this is real.”

Helene sighs. “Believe whatever you want, child. But the truth doesn’t care what you believe.”

I refuse to accept this.

I refuse to believe that my fate was decided before I was even born.

I clench my fists. “Then how do we break the curse?”

Helene gives me a long, tired look. “You can’t.”

I stare at her.

Her voice is quiet, but her words feel like a death sentence.

“One of you will die. And the other will take their place.”

The room feels too small. Too suffocating. No. No, this can’t be real.

I storm toward the door, my mind racing. Damian follows, his footsteps heavy behind me.

I shove past him, stepping outside, gasping for the cool night air.

I hear another voice.

“Damian.”

I turn.

Ivy is standing there. Her eyes are unreadable. But her voice is clear.

“You have to choose between us.”