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“What happened when your parents saw it?”

“I waited until my mother's birthday, got up early, and hung it where it used to be. I waited on the couch for my parents to wake up. Dad got up first to make her a birthday breakfast. When he saw the painting, he just stood and stared at it as if it were magical. When I told him I'd repaired it, he hugged me and swung me in a circle. His pride in me bolstered mine. He drew me into the kitchen, and we made breakfast, smiling at each other with these secret grins. Finally, my mother woke up. We heard her trudging down the hallway. Then she stopped. We crept to the kitchen doorway and watched as she went up to the painting.”

“What did she do?”

“She cried. Dad told her I had fixed it, and she had looked at me with such wonder and happiness it seared the moment into my heart forever. There was no other choice for me after that. It was restoration or nothing. I wanted to save other people's history, revive their memories, and bring them joy as I'd brought my parents.”

“The art you repair doesn't just bring a few people joy, it offers joy along with a glimpse into history to everyone alive now and those who will come later.” Tristan set his cup on the low mahogany table in front of us. His hand reached out, his long fingers closing over mine with a warmth more than temperature. “You told me you wanted to stay so your gift could mean something, but your other gifts already mean so much.”

“Yes, but I worked on those talents. Art was a joy for me that became a way to make a living. But my empath talent is different. I didn't earn it. It was just given to me, thus calling it a gift. But it's never felt like a gift until now.”

“I would think the talents you earned would be more important to you.”

“It's not about what's important. If there is a god or something greater than us, they gave me this ability. There has to be a reason for it.”

He was quiet for a long moment, his thumb tracing the curve of my knuckles. “I know there are gods. Without them, there wouldn't be Divine Curses.”

“You don't think it was human belief in the divine, and their stories that made the Divine Curses?”

“No, it wasn't.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because Cassian and Seraphel can feel God through their Curses.”

“What?!”

Tristan chuckled. “A Divine Curse possesses a touch of divinity. I think it's what makes them so arrogant. They feel as if they're part of God.”

“Part of God. Wow. Yeah, I can see where that might give you a god complex.” I paused. “What was it like? In the beginning?”

“In the beginning? Are we still talking about God? Because there are many gods, and I don't think any of them actually made the world.”

“Wow.” I made a few choking sounds before gathering my thoughts. “Uh, no. I meant your beginning as a Curse.”

Tristan leaned his head back against the leather cushion, exhaling a breath. “Terrifying. When Heartbreak entered me, I fell unconscious. I woke with a name on my lips that wasn't mine and an aching chest. I had no concept of Curses. No one did back then. I don't think even Heartbreak knew what it was. I thought the gods had punished me. Or perhaps I'd died and been denied the afterlife.”

“What did you do?”

“I traveled east, searching for answers. I went to Antioch, Alexandria, Cappadocia. Everywhere I lingered, I'd begin to feel a strange tension in the air. Tragedies would occur. I'm sure I don't have to describe them to you. With the Curse churning inside me, I knew it had to be me. At first, I thought I was a plague bearer. I thought my very breath poisoned the affections of everyone around me.”

“And then?”

“Then I realized I wasn't the one choosing where I went. Heartbreak was guiding me. Pulling me. I moved randomly after that, going from city to city, never staying more than three months at a time. But running did not stop the Pull. I learned that it didn't matter where I went. Heartbreak wasn't taking me to specific locations. It was pulling me to specific people, people who could be found wherever I went.”

“How terrible to have to learn all of it on your own. Heartbreak didn't communicate with you at all?”

“It did, but I didn't trust it, didn't even know what was trying to communicate with me. And it was learning about itself too, so I doubt it had much guidance to offer. Eventually, I stopped trying to flee the sorrow and started staying long enough to see what happened after the upheaval. As with any upset, balance was eventually restored. Heartbreak wasn't death. It could be overcome. The Pull would eventually lead me to people within the same city, but it wasn't as strong as when I traveled. The journeys were too long. By the time I reached a destination, Heartbreak would be desperate. But when I stayed, Heartbreak didn't starve, and I got stronger.”

“Is that when you began your collection?”

He shrugged. “It began slowly. I bought a parchment scroll in Athens in the fourth century and wrote down the names of a weaver and a sailor whose parting Heartbreak had encouraged. I swore that if my existence forced people to suffer, I would at least honor them by remembering their names. I would not allow their grief to be meaningless. But parchments don't last, as you well know, and I began to collect more resilient things.”

The weight of his confession hung in the warm air between us, tender and agonizing. He had spent nearly two millennia viewing himself as an instrument of destruction, unaware of his instinctive reverence for the people he affected and how it made him profoundly human.

I set my mug down, turned on the sofa, and placed my hand against his cheek. His skin was warm, his aquamarine eyes darkening as he leaned into my palm. The edge of his sigil shone within the V of his unbuttoned collar, but it couldn't draw my gaze from his tender expression.

“I think someone has named the entities inside all of you unjustly. They aren't Curses. At least, Heartbreak isn't. Or maybe your strong heart has infected Heartbreak and made it more than a Curse.”