───────────────⋆˖☽ ​𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑪𝒓𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑩𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 ☾˖⋆───────────────

The high wooden gate of Caelfall was a row of broken teeth against the bruised purple sky. Wind scoured the pass, tasting of cold stone and distant ice, but the clouds held their rain. For that, I was grateful.

I set the food baskets down before the gate, a quiet offering they would likely leave to rot. To know the food came from my hands would be reason enough. For myself, I’d kept only a handful of cherry tomatoes and a small head of lettuce, their meager weight a comfort in my sack. The rest I left behind.

Turning away, my boots fought the thick mud, a greedy souvenir from the last storm. The path home was a ribbon of churned earth that clung to the bend around a sentinel rock. With each step, the rich, wet smell of the world rose to meet me.

It was the silence that warned me. The familiar chittering was gone, the rustle of unseen creatures stilled. The hairs on my arms prickled. As I rounded the rock, the silence was broken.

“Hello, Alanah.” The voice was a coil of venom. “Glad you could make it back.”

Corina stood there, a pair of gardener’s shears gripped in one white-knuckled hand. The wind tore at the careless knot of her blonde hair, whipping strands across a face pinched with a familiar malice. Her blue eyes were chips of ice; her freckles, a spray of dirt against pale skin.

My gaze slid past her and landed on my home.

The tomatoes and lettuce tumbled from my grasp, forgotten. They split open on the muddy ground, scattered at my feet. Massive, deliberate slashes gaped in the canvas of my tent. My only shelter. My only sanctuary. Violated.

Something hot and dangerous thrummed at the base of my throat. How could she?

“Corina,” I said, the name a shard of glass in my throat. “What are you doing?”

She didn’t answer, only tapped the cold steel of the shears against her palm. A slow, rhythmic clink. “A friendly reminder,” she sneered. “No one wants you here. It’s time to leave.”

“I’m not even in the village!” The words tore from me, louder than I intended. “I’ve done nothing to any of you!”

“You exist,” she hissed, her voice dropping low and sharp. “You walk around with those cursed eyes and poison everything you touch.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, the sharp, clean pain a welcome anchor. She took a step forward. I took a reflexive step back, my boot squelching in the mud.

A wicked smile twisted her lips. “It won’t be long now. Soon, everyone will convince my father to cast you out for good. Then we’ll finally be rid of the walking curse.”

She closed the distance in two quick strides, her face inches from mine, her breath sour. “You…” she spat, raising a finger to jab my chest.

My hand shot out, catching her wrist. My grip was firm, a manacle of flesh and bone. “That’s enough, Corina.”

Rage flared in her cheeks. Her blue eyes burned. I shoved her hand away.

“Don’t you touch me!” she shrieked, scrubbing at her arm as if I’d left a physical stain. “You still don’t get it, do you? You’re a blight. A weed. We only tolerated you for your dead mother’s sake.” She paused, letting the silence stretch, twisting the knife. “It makes you wonder,” she whispered, her voice pure poison, “if you’re the reason she’s dead in the first place.”

My nails dug into my palms, crescent moons of pain against the tremor of rage in my arms. “Leave my mother out of this,” I bit out through clenched teeth.

Corina’s smirk widened. “Or what?” she taunted, resuming the rhythmic tap of steel on her palm. “My father is the chief. What could a cursed thing like you possibly do?”

She advanced again, brandishing the shears now, the twin blades gaping like a metal jaw. I retreated, my heart hammering against my ribs. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. I could disarm her in a heartbeat, break her wrist if I had to. But I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. She lunged, the shears held high, steel glinting with hungry light.

“Corina!”

The sharp command sliced through the tension. Corina flinched violently, hiding the shears behind her back with a clumsy, jerky motion. A hot flush crept up her neck.

Sierus jogged to a stop a few feet away, his chest heaving slightly, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Oh! Sierus,” Corina chirped, her voice dripping with a false sweetness that turned my stomach. “What are you doing all the way out here?”

“Your father’s looking for you,” he said, his gaze flicking to me for a fraction of a second before settling back on her. He didn’t miss the shears she held awkwardly behind her.

“Right. Can’t keep him waiting.” She leaned toward him, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Meet me tonight? After the torches are lit?”

Sierus shuffled his feet, his gaze finding the mud fascinating. “I can’t. My mother… she needs help with the bread dough.”

The excuse was flimsy, but Corina’s smile didn’t falter. “Some other time, then,” she purred. She swept past me, but not before her eyes met mine, a final, silent promise of venom. The look vanished as she turned back to him. “Bye, Sierus!”

“Goodbye, Corina.”

He stood frozen until her retreating form was a speck against the darkening pass. Only then did he let out a slow, shaky breath. His deep brown eyes finally met mine, and in them, I saw a sorrow that mirrored my own.

“Alanah,” he murmured, his voice heavy. “Why do you let her?”

The fight drained out of me, leaving an exhaustion that settled deep in my bones. “What am I supposed to do, Sierus? She’s the chief’s daughter. And as cruel as she is, she isn’t a dragon. I made a promise.”

He sighed, a sound of profound frustration. “I know. But you deserve protection, too.” His gesture took in the shredded tent, the ruin of my world. “Come on. Let’s see what’s left.”

My stomach plummeted as I turned to face the damage fully. The wind billowed through the gashes, a mournful howl. Inside, my bedroll was kicked askew, my precious dried herbs were scattered like dust, and the contents of my life were strewn about with violent contempt.

A knot of panic tightened in my chest. I scrambled inside, my hands shaking. Please, let it be here.

The wooden crate that held my few treasures was overturned. My eyes scanned the chaos—the shards of my favorite bowl, a spare shirt, a bundle of letters tied with twine. None of it mattered. Where is it?

Then, a glint of familiar steel from beneath a trampled cloth.

Relief so potent it buckled my knees. My fingers closed around the dagger’s hilt, the cool, intricate metal a grounding weight in my trembling hand. I traced the worn lines of the coiling dragon that formed its grip.

“My mother’s dagger,” I whispered, clutching it to my chest like a prayer.

“A dragon dagger?” Sierus asked softly from the tent’s opening, already gathering the larger pieces of the broken bowl. “Why would she have one of those?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, my thumb stroking the creature’s scaled back. “She always said it had been in our family since long before the curse.” The irony was bitter. It was the one thing I kept hidden, and the one thing I could never let go.

Clutching the dagger, I stood and retrieved my bedroll. After shaking it out, I laid it flat, a small island of order in the chaos, and placed the dagger in its center. A steel guardian. “At least this is salvageable,” I murmured. “It just needs a wash.”

Sierus was beside me in an instant. “I can help.”

I glanced through a gash in the canvas. The sky was bleeding into the soft pink and bruised violet of twilight. “The moons will be up soon,” I said. “It can wait.”

“Alright,” he whispered. He said nothing more, simply righting my storage crate while I began to gather my scattered clothes. We worked in a comfortable silence, slowly, piece by piece, trying to put my small world back together.

“Thank you, Sierus,” I said quietly.

He glanced up from folding a shirt, a faint blush dusting his cheeks in the fading light. “I’m just glad I could help.”

A real, small smile touched my lips. “You always do. Ever since that first day.”

He chuckled, a warm sound in the ruined tent. “I’ll never forget it. You were so proud of that basket of berries.”

The memory brought a flush to my own cheeks. “And then you came barreling down the path and sent them flying.”

“And I’ll never forget the horror on your face when I told you they were nightshade,” he finished, his laughter softening as his eyes met mine. They held a warmth that felt dangerous. “It’s a good thing we ran into each other.”

“I suppose it was,” I agreed softly. He was too good. He risked too much just by being here.

“Sierus, you should go.” I gestured to where the wind howled through the canvas. “The village gates will be closing.”

He hesitated, his gaze lingering on the torn tent. “Alright,” he finally said. “I’ll see you soon, Alanah.” His smile was a small pocket of warmth against the growing chill before he turned and disappeared into the twilight.

The sound of his fading footsteps was swallowed by the lonely whistle of the wind. I sank onto my bedroll, the thin wool a poor shield against the cold seeping up from the ground. My hand found the familiar weight of the dagger.

It was going to be a long, cold night.

Through the largest gash in the canvas, I watched the twin moons rise. One was a sliver of pure silver, the other the color of a fresh wound. They were almost full. A small mercy. Just a few more nights until the Cursed Moon rises.

A sigh escaped my lips, turning to mist in the frigid air. The nightly symphony of crickets began, a sound that usually brought comfort but now only amplified my solitude. Sleep was a luxury. I would watch. I would wait. It was all I had left to give. 

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