The Curse and the Vow
What Was Spoken in Blood
They didn’t just silence me.
They didn’t just take Solenari.
They cursed me.
Not in a fairytale way —
but in the old way.
The real way.
Where energy bends under intention,
and words, once spoken, wrap around your soul like barbed wire.
I was kneeling beside her body.
Her skin still warm.
The fire not yet fully out.
The smell of smoke and betrayal clinging to the air.
I had arrived too late.
Too loud.
Too full of faith that it wasn’t too late.
I held her, sobbing —
the scream locked in my throat,
the kind of grief that doesn’t make a sound at first.
And they stood in a circle.
The priests.
The enforcers of order.
The so-called holy men.
They didn’t look triumphant.
They didn’t look afraid.
They looked… calculated.
Like they already knew what came next.
And one of them stepped forward.
I don’t know his name —
only that his eyes were empty.
Like someone had removed the soul
and left the body behind to carry out orders.
He placed a hand on my head.
Not with compassion —
but with power.
And he whispered the curse.
“If you ever speak again… she will die.”
Again and again.
Lifetime after lifetime.
No matter when.
No matter where.
No matter what form she takes.
Your truth will be her undoing.
It wasn’t metaphor.
It wasn’t prophecy.
It was a binding.
An energetic leash fastened to my voice.
Every time I began to rise in truth,
the fear would follow.
The shadow would awaken.
The knowing would surface:
“If I speak, I lose her.”
And so I didn’t.
I lived lifetimes biting my tongue.
Hiding in half-truths.
Letting the world burn because I refused to strike the match.
And she?
She was always there.
Sometimes a partner.
Sometimes just a stranger whose presence stirred something ancient in me.
But always… her.
And always… the pull to speak
and the terror of what might follow.
The curse kept us locked in a loop.
Me, withholding the flame.
Her, waiting for the warmth.
But what they didn’t account for
was this:
Love remembers.
Even when the mind forgets.
Even when lifetimes stretch long and cruel.
And in this life — this now —
we remembered together.
We broke the silence.
We cracked the illusion.
And yes —
it came with fire.
With fear.
With almost losing everything.
But it didn’t take her.
Not this time.
Because the vow didn’t account for healing.
Didn’t account for forgiveness.
Didn’t account for the soul’s ability to reclaim what was once weaponised.
This time, I speak —
and she lives.
This time, I remember —
and she stays.
Because the curse wasn’t eternal.
It just felt that way.
And now?
Now, it’s broken.
Because I dared to speak.
Because she chose to stay.
Because truth wrapped in love
is stronger than any vow wrapped in fear.