Page 181 of Castings & Curses

“Enter,” I called out, not lifting my gaze from the parchment.

The door creaked open, and a familiar scent wafted into the room—lilac and fresh morning dew. I turned to see my mother wringing her hands together.

“I spoke to your grandfather, and he told me what you asked. You must end it, Sage,” she said.

I blinked, my quill halting midsentence, the dark ink pooling and staining the aged parchment. A knot tightened in my chest.

“You said you understood, Mother. You told me to follow my heart.”

Her gaze softened, but her stance remained unwavering. “I know I did, my love. But this…this is bigger than both of us. Than both of you.”

My mind raced as I studied her, the lines of worry etched on her face, her fingers now twisting the edges of her shawl. She was torn, much like me. Her loyalty to our family, to our coven, was battling with her love for her daughter.

“Grandfather.” I swallowed, feeling a bitter taste creep into my mouth. “What did he say?”

The silence that ensued was deafening. I knew, even before she spoke the words, what had transpired.

“He has given his decree, Sage. He…he threatens to disown you if you continue this path.”

I bit my lip and tossed my quill to the table. But the reality was cruel and unyielding. I had hoped for understanding, for acceptance. Yet here I was, facing the age-old ultimatum—love or loyalty.

I began to loathe the traditions I’d once loved, resent the family that had once brought me such comfort. Why couldn’t they understand? I knew what my heart longed for. I loved Cristian. I loved my family too, my coven. But how could one choose between two halves of their own soul?

“I won’t leave him, Mother.” I choked out the words, tasting their bitter truth. “We are trying to find a way to break the curse—”

“Sage!” she cut in. “Do you think others have not tried to do the same? While it has been hundreds of years since the last time a witch defied her coven, the story remains. Crops died, animals became infertile. Suffering fell upon the land. Our spells were powerless to help the sick, the dying. You have no idea the magnitude of the evil you’re awakening.”

The look my mother gave me was one of heartbreak and resignation. We both knew the gravity of my decision, the repercussions it would have. But even then, my resolve did not waver.

“I believe…” I began, then drew a breath and stood taller. “Cristian and I believe, based on our research, that our love may be enough to overcome the curse. Then, if we’re successful, the feud between the vampires and the witches can end too.”

“If! If!” my mother cried, her arms lifted in exasperation. “And ifnot?”

I slowly shook my head. “We must try, Mother. Please, believe in us.”

She pressed her hands to her face and sobbed. In anguish, I watched my mother leave, her figure retreating until it disappeared into the lush green of the forest that surrounded our village. The cottage felt emptier than it had ever been, filled only with my resolute silence and the dream of a defiant love.

The world outside seemed oblivious to my quandary. Birds chirped merrily, the wind rustled through the trees on the towering mountains, and the sun cast long, dancing shadows. The world was alive, vibrant, while my own world was spiraling into a storm of heartache.

I picked up my quill again, my fingers trembling. The spell before me seemed to blur. But I was ready.

Rising from my chair, I rolled the parchment, tucked it under my arm, and left the comfort of my cottage. I welcomed the burst of wind that caressed my face and ruffled my hair as I stepped into the wide-open expanse. Despite my surging emotions, the day was tranquil. The verdant trees surrounding the village whispered secrets to each other, while the cobbled pathway stretched ahead, winding its way through clusters of quaint houses.

As I walked toward the center of the village, my heart pounded loudly in my ears. Ahead, perched on a rise overlooking our world, was my grandfather’s home. I had to speak to him, to try to sway him to my cause once more.

The journey seemed endless. Each step I took felt like a victory and a defeat. I was approaching my family, my roots, but with the risk of losing it all.

Finally, the cottage stood before me. The wood-and-stone structure, weathered by centuries, was a symbol of our heritage, our traditions, the power of our coven. I took a deep breath, summoning all my courage, and stepped forward.

Inside, the room was dimly lit, the air heavy with the scent of old books and dried herbs. I found my grandfather seated in his usual armchair, his figure silhouetted against the faint glow of the fireplace. His piercing gaze landed on me as I entered, unwavering and stern.

“I am told,” he began, “that you have chosen to defy our laws, to forsake our coven.”

His words stung, but I stood my ground and held out the scroll. “I have chosen love.”

“For a vampire? A creature of evil?”

“For someone who sees the world not for what it is, but for what it could be.”

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