Born A Sorceress, Named A Curse

20261017

Prompt from DailyPrompt.com

I throw aside the letter and burst out onto the balcony, falling to my knees and pressing my forehead against the cold marble banister.
Breathe. I have to breathe, I must hold calmness in my mind, I must contain the maelstrom tearing at my chest. I already feel the wind start to pick up, feel space itself twisting and turning around me, I must not-
Then his hands grip my shoulders and the power frothing in me is sucked away. The effect is like having a bucket of glacier melt poured over my head. A full-body shock, just short of painful, that leaves me arcing and gasping for air as I reel. But in the next instant I can relax. I can breathe deep again. The world no longer screams against my skin.
“I’m sorry.” I whisper.
“For?” One hand shifts to stroke my hair.
“Losing myself so easily.”
“Ah. There is no need to apologise, my sweet.”
I shake my head. Reach up to squeeze the cool, bony hand still resting on my shoulder. I’m aware that taking comfort from the presence of a necromancer is a sign of how perverse my existence is. Truly I am a curse upon my people.
He lets out a barely audible sigh. “That letter was from your brother, wasn’t it? While I’m glad someone from your home still cares for you, I do wish he would choose his words more carefully.”
Ah. Yes, he’s never gotten over my comrades abandoning me and my family declining to ransom me. I still remember how confused he was. How apologetic. I was led from my cell - led, not dragged, by skeletal servants rather than ghoul warriors. And he was in his study, not the austere throne room. He was so shocked that I felt no shock at the news.
That, as well as having nowhere to go, was why I stayed.
I use the banister to haul myself up and turn to face him. His gaunt features, warped by use of necromancy until he resembles a ghoul himself, really ought to revolt me. But in truth, I scarce notice anymore, and have occasionally been startled, on catching my reflection, by how much flesh I have. How pink my skin is. That my eyes are not featureless, blood-red orbs.
I wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his shoulder. The scent soaked into his coat, blood and antiseptic and embalming mixtures, is another thing which should be disgusting. And it was, at first.
“I interrupted your work, didn’t I? I’m sorry.”
“These things happen.” He murmurs, eternally patient. “Don’t worry, I very much doubt they will complain.”
I laugh. I know I shouldn’t. He’s talking about desecrating corpses, after all.
Grimacing, I murmur “I wish I knew if this is what the seer meant, when she said joining the strike against you was the only chance I had to escape my fate.”
“Mm.” He tucks my hair behind my ear so he can kiss it. “It… is hard to believe that any servant of the gods would knowingly send a treasure such as you to my side.”
Treasure. My heart flutters and twists all at once, as it does whenever he speaks of me. He insists that the magic which flows through me is marvellous. That being a living leyline makes me a wonder of the world, not a dangerous perversion of the natural order. That wizards should have been lining up to study me, not locked me away.
“You are a treasure.” He insists, as if my disbelief is written across the back of my head.
“A cursed treasure.” I force myself to pull away. When in his arms I find myself perilous close to believing him. “You know what the seers read in my future. The destruction I will wreak, if I cannot overcome my nature and escape the bounds of fate.”
“And you know that I would gladly watch this realm burn if you were the flame. If your fate comes, it will find us together. That is enough.”
His calm should alarm me. I almost wish it does. But I am not that strong. I cannot even bring myself to shake off the hand which cups my shoulder.
Then he gestures, and my ‘maid’ Alice obediently collapses into a pile of bones, and the magic he siphoned from me shapes her into a bench.
When I chose to stay, I made him promise not to use the magic he draws from me for his… work. I was startled by how readily he agreed. He laughed and reminded me that the reason he took over this old fort is how suitable the leylines are. “A concern for us lesser creatures,” he joked.
But he must let the power out somehow. So he spends it on me.
He sits, his hand sliding down my arm to squeeze my hand, and I take the seat beside him. Unable to meet his gaze, painfully aware it will hold no fear.
“I entirely understand why your brother worries for you, and why he will not believe any assurance penned while you are ‘within my grasp’. And why he is reluctant to accept an invitation to check on you in person. But I do feel he should understand why I fear what his people might do to you, once you are outside my protection. Perhaps if you arranged a meeting near the boundary, and pretend I am unaware…?”
I shake my head. “He would only show up ready to drag me away, for my own good.”
“Ah.” He sighs. His fingers tightening against mine.
Of course my brother fears for me. Of course he thinks I have lost my mind. Indeed, I fear he may be right.
Yet, despite this, I lean against the dark wizard who took me captive. I welcome his arm wrapping around my waist. I kiss his cheek.
While I still fear my fate… at least it will find us together.

Prompt was “Write a dark romance scene that includes the phrase: ‘I would gladly watch this realm burn if you were the flame.’”