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What happens when you layer a curse on top of a curse? How many binding spells can be cast on one town to crumble into ash? The place I used to love, dreamt of raising my kids and having such a large family, has turned into a vile, torturous place that haunts me every day and night. My dreams are filled with blood, and when I wake up, my fingers are always covered in thick, red crimson. I have to question, who is it that I have crossed? Was it a friend, or a passerby? How many lives have knelt before me and pleaded for their lives, while I’ve done nothing besides cause more chaos to Castle Pointe?
The moment you lay one curse on another, a thickness grows, impenetrable. Breaking the curse becomes nearly impossible. You can hide it; you can sweep it underneath your dusty rug and hope and pray to the gods above that you live to see another day. Though, as I sit in the middle of my five-pointed star with the vial of blood in front of me, the blood that seeps from my own veins, I know I have destroyed any sense of life here in Castle Pointe.
Castle Pointe will furthermore be nothing but death and destruction.
Tonight, I color the sky. The moon will turn red with the blood of those who have caused me and my ancestors turmoil and will weep as it rains fire on their skin and burns their bones to ash.
I have filled the one holy place in this town with such malevolence; it is no longer a place you go to pray, but now a place you go to weep. The priest and nuns have wronged me for the last time.
How many times can you pray over a soul before you give up? None, in their eyes. They will press their metal crosses against my skin and pray to heal my wicked soul, tossing me in a room in hopes to atone for my sins.
They want peace, but I want chaos.
As the moon runs red, a void opens in the earth, creating a path where the dead can once again live. Hell will never sleep in Castle Pointe. We will breathe among the living, will walk alongside them. I will destroy every home, ruin every living being, and bring madness to this small piece of earth against the waters of Lake Superior.
If my loved ones have died on this land, my only wish is for us to haunt this world together.
Bring me death. Bring me blood. And for the sliver of innocence left in my bones, bring me my family back.
Rowena
My eyes crack open to the sound of the front door opening. I shoot up to a sitting position, the journal tumbling from my chest to my lap. I shove it aside, snapping it closed as my body tenses with unease.
“Who’s there?” I croak out, exhaustion and nerves mixing together.
My question goes unanswered, and a ringing starts in my ears as I grow nervous. I shuffle to the edge of the bed. “Hello?” I ask again, my voice shaking.
I hear footsteps downstairs, heavy, slow, making their way toward the stairs. The moment the wood creaks, I shoot off the bed, my eyes glancing around for something that can protect me. There’s absolutely nothing, though, unless I plan to lift the heavy table off to the side and use it as a shield.
I grab the heavy grimoire from the school, lifting it above my head, preparing to use it as a bat.
A shadow grows in the stairwell, and my heart thuds in my chest as I scramble back, until my calves bump against the mattress.
“Go away!” I cry out, as a dark shadow appears at the top of the stairs.
Anger simmers in my chest; I’m tired of the constant attacks, so as the final creak reaches my ears, I rush forward, a scream breaking from my throat as I swing the book down on the head of the intruder.
“What the fuck!” A low growl hits my ears as an arm swings out, bashing the book from my hands. Fingers wrap around my neck, and I gasp out a squeal as I’m lifted off my feet and flung back, until my back hits the wall. “What the fuck are you doing?”
My eyes clash with Felix’s, and though relief flutters in my chest, my eyebrows furrow, already irritated with his brash tone. I fight against him, and he doesn’t let me go, but he does settle me to the floor, releasing some tension from my neck.
“What are you doing here?” I choke out once I can breathe in an ounce of air.
He cocks his head to the side, annoyance lighting his dark irises. “I should ask the same. This isn’t your place. What’reyoufucking doing here?”
I bring my hands to his chest, grabbing the light fabric of his shirt and shoving him as hard as I can. He doesn’t let up, pushing harder against me, his forearm pressing against my chest, directly between my breasts. “What the fuck are you doing here, Hazel?” he growls.
Lowering my hand, I pinch his side enough so he flinches. I break from his hold, bolting away from him and rushing toward the other side of the bed. “If you want to know, I’m pretty sure I almost died when you kicked me out, and this was the closest place I could escape to. So, I came here.”
“What do you mean you almost died?” he asks slowly.
I point out the window. “Someone was fucking chasing me in the woods, and I got thrown, almost tumbled off the bridge, got cut up…” I lift my arms, and then my feet, showing him the sliced-up soles. My fingers brush against the scratch marks that feel like burns on my stomach. I’ve been trying to ignore them, but the tiredness is depleting me, and almost every inch of my body is screaming in pain. “And none of it ever would’ve happened if you would’ve just let me explain instead of kicking me out of your house.”
He stalks around the bed and up to me, his fingers brushing the cuts, looking them over with heavy eyes. Lifting them slightly, he spears me with a look, his voice a mixture of raspy and rageful. “I don’t need an explanation from a fucking witch.”
I shove his hands away from me, hating how his touch causes me to melt into a puddle at his feet. “I hate you so much, Felix. Get out of here,” I snap at him, a sob I won’t release bubbling up my throat. I don’t know why he makes me feel these things he does. How he can provide such a comfort and make me absolutely despise him at the same time.
“Would you fucking stop for a second?” He grabs at me, pulling me tightly against him, his grip fingers bruising, not even a little bit gentle. The rough pads of his fingers brushing against the smooth, yet scratched skin of my arms, but I keep pushing away. “Stop fucking fighting me!” he roars, shoving me up against the wall, pinning me tightly. “Quit fighting me,” he rasps, his fingers dragging across every wound, every inch of pain on my body.
