I stared at the small black stone resting on the table between us. It looked ordinary at first glance. Just a smooth piece of obsidian, no bigger than the palm of my hand. Yet something about it made the air inside the humble hut feel heavier, almost suffocating. “You said…” My voice came out barely above a whisper, trembling slightly. “You would tell me how Lucian became cursed.” “I did,” she replied simply, her tone steady and ancient. She reached for the black stone and placed two fingers lightly on its glossy surface. The gesture was gentle, almost reverent. “But stories have beginnings, child,” she continued softly. Her lips curved into a faint, knowing smile that sent another shiver down my spine. “And every curse begins long before the day it is spoken.” I leaned forward without realizing it, drawn in by her words. The old woman tilted her head slightly, as though listening to distant sounds I could not hear. Sounds from another time. “Close your eyes,” she i
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