My Unseen Curse
A Short Story
The abyss beckoned the shadows of my memory, so my mind took the descent into the darkness. Feeling the strange sensation of falling,
the whorl of blackness around me swirled into soaring pillars of a cavernous chamber—I knew this place. It had haunted me ever since I had seen it first.
Suddenly, plumes of smoke sinisterly snaked from the cold flagstone ground, shaping into twelve, standing hooded figures. Their eyes
blazed with white fire as they all stared down upon me knelled before them, their vision searing into my soul. The figure that towered within the middle, stepped forward, and outstretched a
spindly, gnarled hand that clutched his wand. Its tip was pointed directly at me.
“Alas, you are before the Brethren, Alecander and alas before me, the Reor,” he hissed, his raspy voice stung the choking air. “You
have no alibi this time.”
“You will not speak, until granted to do so,” he clarified authoritatively, snapping his wand upward; my partly open jaw was clamped
shut by an invisible force that welled tears in the corners of my eyes.
“Do you Alecander Morpheus deny your treason against the Seal, the Ring of the Wizards by the murder of Hezekiah the Sagacious, of
which guilt bleeds from your very hands?”
I felt the crushing pressure evaporate long enough to give my answer. “No,” I muttered, my lips trembling.
“Very well, the time has come my Brethren. With the power invested within the Brethren of Counsel: I sentence you, Alecander Morpheus,
to an eternity of solitude baring the Curse of the Dedecor—the Unseen!”
The Reor moved his wand in a wild activity, and my right arm was snatched, upheld forcibly before him with my wrist exposed from my
cloak. A violent enchantment of ancient words escaped from the pallor of the Reor’s thin lips. A terrible, bright emerald light exploded from the tip of his wand and streaked to my wrist.
My cry of agony shattered the still air as my body writhed uncontrollably, consumed in an invisible fire. Heaving hysterically, the
deluge of tears burned against my skin. My sight blurred; I glimpsed the pulsating flaming white light of the Cursed Mark charred below my hand. Then the darkness took me.
I awaked to sound of my own horrified screaming, the salty stains of my own tears against my cheeks. Grasping at my chest exploding
with my hammering heartbeats, I saw a blindingly white light shaft from my right hand. I turned over my arm, seeing the ornate outline of the Cursed Mark emanate in glowing brilliance. It had never
done this before—in all my one thousand-five hundred and twenty-nine years of living, if this life can be called living.
The light dimmed, before completely fading away. It left the infamous inscription as I had always seen it: a flat, colorless
four-pointed diamond inked into being by Dark Magic. The Cursed Mark.
The scarred, jaggedly healed wound was ripped open, my dangerous past bleeding through once more. My breathing became more normal, but
my arms still trembled as I looked to the shabby, cracked wall of the old apartment, and not into his enflaming white eyes. I realized it was only a nightmare, but a nightmare of what once was, the
deciding event that had taken place so long ago I nearly had forgotten. Nearly.
It was the first time I had dreamt of it in centuries. But why?
Vivid recollections of one’s past—Glimpses—only came when something was upon the knife’s edge of happening. Something that would alter
the fate of surrounding that one person forever. That much I had learned as a child in Seminary.
I lay back down slowly against the lumpy mattress, attempting to forget the flashes of their scorching eyes, and the excruciating
pain, but the nightmare had left its after-burn irrevocably. Staring off to the grimy, boarded-up window, the luminary moonlight seeping through its chinks, I drifted into sleep.
My eyes flittered open to the pale morning light. Blinking, I breathed in the stuffy, dusty air; what was the point of cleaning up an
apartment of an abandoned complex?
The noisy din of the New York traffic outside was muted by the thick, brick walls of the old building. The warm sunlight pooled onto
my bed, duskily lighting the clouds of dust, swirling about and that settled amidst my eyelashes. I blinked again, yawning as I stiffly arose from the squeaky mattress. I threw off the covers, and
swung my white legs over the bed, resting my bare feet against the cold, hardwood floor.
I sat there momentarily, taking in another morning, another morning alone. A sigh weighed with an ancient desuetude poured from my
partly open lips. I couldn’t remember the last I had spoken, and actually heard my own voice. It had been so long, I had almost forgotten its sound.
This wasn’t any of kind of alone. This was different. I had faced it more than thousand years of living, did face it, and would face
it until the end of the ages.
It was what the Greeks called Pliris Apomonotirio, complete isolation. The atmosphere agonizingly became pungent to inhale, crippled
with suffocating memory.
Standing erect, I drifted toward what could only convey my existence into actuality, the only remembrance that I was not walking some
purgatory peripheral to the supposed afterlife. I slowly sat upon the rickety bench, and stared into the mirror before me, broken by three sinuous fractures, which all diagonally intersected
focally at the center.
Essentially, when I first moved into the apartment upon an unearthly whim, I saw this mirror was a reflection of me—broken from all
society, and humanity, whether that of the magical or the mortal.
As expected, my own physical reflection hadn’t changed at all, not even a minute differentiation. All the same. As it had been since
the Curse was irrevocably burned upon me, an immortalizing parasite. My theory was simple. When the Brethren, all distinct now, I easily enough surmised, or more hoped, had bound this immortal
Curse upon me all those years ago, when I was but a young man, seventeen, its magical binding kept me this way, forever.
The angled, pale face remained unchanged, framed by my long white blond hair. Eyes that had seen so much:pain, wars, love, death,
family, life, and the eternal beauty, all that was out of my reach, except for the pain, stared back me, glinting, the same bright green.
I felt most like the relatively recent invention, a photograph framed upon the wall above everyone, the frame’s glass—this
Curse—trapping me from contact, from feeling what I longed to feel: passion, romance, wonder, the security of another, only the soft touch of hand entwined with mine. But none of that was possible.
I was the only one who knew I existed. No one else did.
The immortally crafted face that peered back me, broken-heartedly, tortured silently, shattered by the cracks within the mirror
belonged to that of a cursed wizard. I was a wizard, my identity in a nutshell. And I supposed I was the oldest wizard, well, ever. But did that matter, when you were invisible?
Because that’s what I was: invisible. The Curse had made me invisible, like this—forever. I could feel without actually feeling; I
could see without actually seeing. I appeared within this mirror, as I coexisted within this Earth, but only unto my own eyes, and to no one else’s. And I lived this way within the shadows of the
humans, drifting, always drifting.
I closed my eyes and released a sigh, before opening them again. There was no rationality in becoming angry; I had learned that well
enough. Nothing could change my state of being. Nothing, expect one remedy. But I heard it was only a myth, and so I forced myself not dwell upon it.
I had searched for it, for three times. And three times I failed, empty-handed. Such was this lonely life.
At that moment there was a disturbance in the air, a wooden rattling against my nightstand. An object flew across the air at my call
and darted into my sight. I caught my wand, my eyes gazing of its ornate form. My once Master Obaeus, who now, I hadn’t the slightest inclination of what happened to him, other than obviously
passing into the Other World, had given this to me the last time I saw him. He said my training was complete, that I finally had learned the art of Wizardry, but I had not yet reached Mastery—now I
was most positive I was beyond that benchmark, having lived for so long. I missed him greatly; he had been like my father, since I never knew of my parents.
But I couldn’t dwell too long upon that. I needed to get out of this apartment. The wand was all I left of my old life—all the
Brethren left me with, as they saw that the invisibility negated my magical abilities being any further problematic. Closing my eyes, I raised my wand and thought within my mind envisioning the top
of the complex:
I felt the brisk March wind, unhindered, against my skin before I opened my eyes. When I did, my sight awakened to the blindingly
crimson sunlight burning brilliantly through the breaks of the clouds, setting all beautifully afire. I walked without hesitation and fearlessly stood upon the edge of the eight-story building, my
eyes sweeping over the busy town below, a town I had seen for over twenty years. Now, I knew all the ins and outs of this city.
A small smile curled my lips.
A soft, mystical golden light radiated from my wand, and consumed my body. I stepped off the building, and dove into my descent.
Crying out loudly, for no one could hear me, exhilarated by the swift spiral downward, the wind whipped against my face and through my long hair. Just when I might have crashed against the pavement
of the bordering sidewalk, I jerked myself up with the fling of my wand, and shot forward passing over the talking heads of business-suit dressed people on their cell phones, gone unnoticed. I
laughed like always.
I took to the sky, feeling the weightless thrill excite every fiber within me and explode a fireworks of adrenaline beneath my skin.
The rush was incredible. The means unbelievable. I flipped twice, before freewheeling over a flock of squawking birds and into the sunlight.
That night something strange happened to me. Something I had never felt before, something quite odd and even confusing told me to take
the subway instead of flying as usual. So I did, feeling the weight of fate more than anything.
Inside the fluorescently lit transit, I stood near the shadowy back, holding onto the silver, glimmering pole. A rather obese, gruffly
dressed man sat taking up two seat spaces to the right of me occupying himself with a newspaper. The alcoholic fragrance he emitted with his breath was just lovely. Opposite of him, rested an older
woman, who appeared to be working dead-end jobs, her glossy eyes bagged with purple rings. Beside her sat a dark-skinned young man, who tapped his foot every third second while listening to MP3
player, headphones plugged in his ears. Other than them, within this section, it was empty.
I wondered what in the world justified my reasoning in taking this transit. While my mind churned over this, a golden-haired girl
strolled into the transit’s still open door meekly, her head kept slightly down. Quietly, she sat down two seats away from beefy-necked middle-aged man, clasping her hands together.
My eyes would have naturally flickered away from her, not giving her another thought—but something caught my eye. As I looked more
closely to what sparkled in the bright lights, to what hung half-hidden beneath her coated, dark blue shirt, my mouth fell open. Baffled, I continued to stare, gawking really. I couldn’t believe
All and any further doubt I could have had against my purpose of taking this MTA transit, immediately vanished, vindicated. It was all
meant to be. Our crossing of fates, like the paths of stars, we were.
But how did this mortal girl have possession of this?
None of this made any sense, beyond our fated appointment. My mind lost in thought, I didn’t notice the doors close. The transit began
to rumble with movement, my hold onto the pole troubled with vibration. Then the subway transit began to move.
After three stops, all of the passengers within my section were gone, all the seats empty—except for one, the girl’s. How I wished I
could sit down next to her, and talk to her. But that was a fool’s dream for me.
My concentration had been intensely upon her for the entire ride. I found her pale face quite intriguing, uniquely attractive. Of
course I had felt this human emotion before—attraction, amongst throngs of girls before, but somehow this feeling was different. There was richer nuance present now, than ever before, its smell
intoxicating. She kept her dark blue eyes stared straight ahead, a conflicted thought lightening through her mind, I could tell easily.
How I wished I could read her thoughts. Something. But no spell could unveil another’s mind. That was “preposterous,” or so my former
master had told me, when I first mentioned it long ago. How I wished it wasn’t.
What was it in her eyes? Fear? Concern? Hurt? Pain? This was more difficult to read, and that bothered me.
When the transit came to its next stop, I saw her finally shoulder her purse, and stand from her seat. She departed from the public
transport through the opened doors.
I followed her.
The shadowed sidewalks were still darkened damp, slick by the rainfall that had only let up; the stagnant pools of water glimmered
with the reflections of the lamplight, and occasionally the flash of headlights. The thick night air was deathly silent for New York, only broken by her footsteps and the distant honking of
The one thought that invaded my brain while following behind her all this way had been the same. She shouldn’t be out this late,
alone. It was insanely dangerous around these drab parts.
As we rounded around a hole-in-the-wall pizza place, its neon green sign blinking, I heard quickened running from behind. I halted my
movement, and turned around seeing nothing.
When I looked by to the girl, I saw she had distanced herself further away. Hasting my pace, the misty air clung against my face, and
I felt my heart begin to beat feverishly. Suddenly, I beheld barely a dark figure drop from the sky and her scream of terror pierce the air. Jolting into a sprint, I saw the blackly figure towering
over the girl, he had thwarted against the wall holding her throat at the point of his—wand?
He was dressed in a masking, sweeping long coat that nearly blended the pitch darkness. I could see the girl petrified—frozen with
fear, and the figure split their attention from her and onto me: their eyes luridly white, blazing with a haunting reminiscence. Acting upon impulse, I extended my wand and shouted a disarming
spell. There was a loud crackle as a bright blue light was afflicted from the tip of my wand and crashed into the chest of the assailant, spinning him onto the ground, his wand flung from his
Laboriously, I saw him raise his head giving me a last revengeful glare before disappearing like smoke into the night. I approached
her, she gasped for breath, her chest heaving in and out. I saw the grimy sweat collected upon her brow, the tears in her eyes—and I could do nothing. She quickly grabbed up her bag, and flew from
against the wall, not giving a second look back.
With no other bizarre interruption, I followed her to a house, which was three-stories, narrow, and brick with dark hodge-podge
shingling. I didn’t even have time to think about the sighting of that strange figure with the glowing white eyes, fully concerted upon her.
Inside the house, it was warmly lit but most of all—dry. She threw off her worn, dirty Converse sneakers at the door, where a thin,
willowy woman stood beyond, her hands impatiently resting against her hips. Claire had this woman’s long, golden hair, and their deep blue eyes were also the same. She was her mother. They began to
converse why the girl I had followed—her name, Claire—was late. She lied. She said she had forgotten her purse, and had to go back and get it. I could without difficulty tell how keyed up Claire
was, for apparent enough reason.
She had been heading home from her job at the local Starbucks, this I learned too. After a few minutes of their talking, she half-ran
through a hall, its walls filled with family portraits. I continued to follow her up their carpeted stairs and to what I guessed was her room, the walls a faded canary yellow.
Claire jumped excitedly onto her bed, and grabbed a deep red-covered book—it was a journal from her wooden nightstand. She curled her
legs toward her, and rested the journal’s back against her jean-covered thighs. Eagerly, she flipped open the cover, fluttered through the pages, and creased back the cover, before writing with an
uncovered pen from the nightstand’s drawer. She wrote intensely, her eyes widened, her hand shaking.
After writing for awhile, once flipping the page to continue, she stopped, and slowly shut the book. Her eyes drifted and she stared
straight through me, her face contemplative. Even if I knew she wasn’t looking at me, it sent chills through my body. There was just something about her…
Claire raised her hands and lifted off what had so captivated my interest, lying it upon her nightstand. She bit her lip, and slid off
She strode to her chest of drawers, opened one, and gathered clothes from it—sweats and a tank top from the looks of it. From there,
Claire opened a white door and disappeared, closing it behind her.
Soon I heard a shower door open and shut, and after the sound of water turned on, falling. She wouldn’t be out for awhile. First I
gave her nightstand a curious eye. A crooked smile slipped up my lips.
I was already in the room, wasn’t I?
I walked to her oaken nightstand, my eyes cast down upon what lay below, shimmering in the light of the lamp. It was what I couldn’t
believe a simple, mortal girl like her to possess—it was unbelievably unlikely.
It was the Amulet of Vigoratus—the Amulet of Healing; it released any Cursed from their Mark, its magical power unparallel. The Amulet
was considered mythical, something beyond recognition for even those of the Magïe. But here it was in all of this strange, but wondrous glory, the possession of this ordinary girl, Claire.
There was no denying its authenticity. It bore every description of its legend: the most pure of gold, ornately wrought, and
distinguished with an engraved V upon the Amulet, foliate in design.
There was no reasoning in touching this myself, for it was said that if was taken by force, its powers would be rendered void. It had
to be given through the willingness of the proprietor. But it was so tempting. I looked away and to her brightly-colored bed. I outstretched gradually a hand to her journal. Clasping hold of it, I
sat down, opening it up. I knew this nailed through ethical morale, but my curiosity was more overbearing.
When I came to today’s date, I stopped, and my eyes scanned over the swiftly wrote handwriting. Somehow I just knew she would write
about what happened to her not only a few moments ago, and how she was inexplicably saved. I was incredibly surprised she hadn’t told anyone. But I had seen that her qualities screamed quite the
introvert, but there was nothing wrong with that.
I could feel my heart begin to pound, its ring sting my ears. I was actually considering on doing something that would went against
all I had been told. Revealing unto this girl the world of the Magïe. The pledge was branded into my being: The Magïe existed in secrecy, and in secrecy outside that of the Mortal knowledge, we
stayed. It was against the decree of the Seal to reveal our existence to Mortal, but they were deceased? Or so I had thought until tonight, with the sighting of that dark-coated figure, and those
white glowing eyes.
Everything I once thought was sure, wasn’t sure anymore. And this frightened me. I had made my decision.
I reached for her pen, clicked it, and I wrote:
Hello, Claire. My name is Alec, and I am a wizard. I know this may be quite difficult for you to believe, but I am a wizard. I do
not lie to you. I was the one who saved you. I hope sincerely this does not frighten you. I would like to talk to you.\\\\
At the sound of her bathroom door opening, I replaced the journal and pen in their original positions. I stood form her bed, and as
she emerged dressed in her comfy pajamas, her damp hair pulled into a ponytail. She gave her bed an odd look, and she walked toward it, grabbing her journal. She opened the notebook, and scavenged
through its pages.
A horrified gasp escaped her lips, and the book fell from her hands, as she collapsed onto her bed. I saw her chest trembling, her
blue eyes wild.
This was it. Her following decision would craft both my fate and hers together.
After a moment that seemed to last a lifetime of her only staring, she slowly picked up the journal. Claire gave her pen an
inquisitive glance, before grasping it and writing a response.
When finished, she left the book opened onto the bed, and stood, stepping away.
Was she leaving it for me? Of course she was.
I strode to the bed, reclined, and as I lifted the book, I thought her to scream. Claire covered her mouth with a trembling hand as I
I can’t believe I’m actually writing back to this. How do you even know my name? This is…I can’t even describe. How in the world is this
happening? First being assaulted by some guy with a…wand? None of this makes any sense. Alright. I’ll write back, even if this is all crazy. I mean, who’s here to see? Okay, Alec. Can you explain
all of this to me? Please.
I took the pen and wrote:
I will begin by answering your first question. I know your name simply by listening to your Mother call you that precisely. I
wouldn’t have known otherwise. And you’re right this is all bizarre, even to me. Now to answer your second question: this is all happening simply because I am a wizard, and I am under a terrible
curse, and that you possess the legendary Amulet of Vigoratus. It is very powerful, and because of that, I believe you are being hunted, thus the attack upon you.
We continued to exchange these writings to each other in this procession late into the hours of the night. She wanted to know more
about my Curse, and I told her everything—how I was forever cursed invisible, and how I had been framed for a murder I did not commit.
This took her by surprise. She inquired of how old I was because of my immortality. I told her.
Her response was unnerving, her eyes widened, her mouth falling partly agape. I told her of how dangerous this actually was my
disclosing of this magical world unto her, as it was against the Seal. But I supposed the Seal had been dissolved with the passing of the Dark Ages. And too, there was one event that justified
Claire had been assaulted by a Bearer of magic, a warlock perhaps. So my telling her was irrelative really. I desired to know more of
her, and how she came across this Amulet. She first had said she didn’t know it was anything of the magical nature, although she knew, just knew there was something intangibly different about it.
Claire had found it while over at her grandmother’s in the attic, as they helped her move, in a chest recently; and once she saw it, she immediately asked if she could keep it for her own.
That provoked my mind into pensive thought. Perhaps she was a descendent of a witch. That was plausible. I asked her about this, and
she stated she never knew of anything of the like. Peculiar. Then I desired to know of her personal life, and at this point she nearly believed I was within the room, sitting beside of her,
entranced by her beautiful eyes, the arousing smell of her perfume. Was this how it felt with the beginnings of falling in love?
Claire had lived in New York all of her sixteen years, born to Jack and Tania Allworth; Jack died thirteen years ago because of a
sudden heart attack. She barely had known him. My heart was broken for her, and her mother. She said a day didn’t pass when she didn’t miss not knowing him. And because of this she hardly let
people come close to her—that’s why she said she considered an outcast, lonely. Hurting.
As we continued speaking through writing, something happened within me. My heart burst into an unbridled joy I had never once
experienced in all my living. There was no feasible way to describe this but as unexplainable. Was it love? It must have been. Did I see her blush?
She made it quite clear; she needed something to validate my existence. Claire almost believed either herself gone insane or dreaming.
She needed justification, as we all did. Everyday.
I had an idea.
I entreated her to come to her window, open it, and I would do the rest. Hesitantly, she approached the wind from the bed, as I
already stood there. She opened her window looking over the shadowed front lawn, letting in the brisk breeze. She stepped back, an unsure look upon her face, waiting on me.
Upholding my wand, I thought the spell for flight and directed its tip to her. A golden shower of light exploded and cast itself into
her. In complete disbelief, she gasped as her body began to glow with the fair aura.
Her eyes shot to the window, her brow rising; and then I saw it on her face. She knew.
She gulped; I could see she was very afraid. “You want me to fly with you don’t you?”
Even if she couldn’t see, I nodded.
“Okay, I trust you Alec,” she said, stepping forward and extending a hand. “I just can’t believe I’m doing this…This is all
Interrupting her abruptly with grasp of my hand around hers, I pulled Claire to the window. She didn’t struggle the slightest, on the
contrary simply followed. At the window I heard her take in a deep breath, and I passed through bounding into the air outside first. I drew her from its sill and over with a final, ginger tug, and
into the night we went.
She cried out in alarm, heaving, but when she saw that she remained within the air hovering, instead of falling, Claire began to take
control of her rapid breathing. Then the excitement ignited within her features, the simple awe of it all. Beyond my expectation she burst into a gush of giggles, her face brightening beautifully.
Her personality was contagious, her laugh full of life. It imbued with such passion I had never known before—of course I had fallen in love before, obviously. But it was nothing as I experienced
now. How I just wished I could do the simplest of acts and just reach out and touch her face. But I couldn’t. Not the way I desired.
Claire quieted, still beaming, overwhelmed. “I’m ready,” she whispered.
A silent, crooked smile she couldn’t see cracked my lips.
Gripping tauter upon her hand, I shot skyward the cool, misty air tingling against our skin, the darkness cloaking around us. In a
star’s blitz we flew from the rooftops of the surrounding neighborhood, barreling in the clear, cloudless heavens, the moonlight celestially soaking through us, and bathing the distant busy,
unthinking town below in a mystifying light. The wind rushed through our hair, whipped our bodies coldly. Suddenly, I stopped.
We floated upright, the glittering world below a dark doormat beneath our feet; the lights of the towering skyscrapers and buildings
seemed more like seas of glimmering stars, out of reach. Deciding quickly, I took us into a plummeting decent with no intention of stopping. As we raced, spiraling downward, the wind battering us,
adrenaline firing our veins, Wallabout Bay came into sparkling view. Just when I could have easily dove us into the deep, black water; I stirred us swiftly against the surface, only her reflection
skimming the bay inches underneath. She reached out and brushed delicately her forefinger into the water, and I mounted us higher into the air, the starry night enveloping us.
As weightless as a dove resting upon telephone wires of New York, I placed her upon the window’s sill. She climbed down through the
window and into her room; I followed her. Fully standing in her room, I shut her window with a flick of my wand. The soft, breaking light of dawn glinted against the glass, and my eyes sought for
the sun as always. I smiled seeing the rosy arms of the sunrise stretch into the awakening world, their burning color blushing into crimson clouds.
I closed my eyes, breathing in the fresh air of the once open window, and the traces of Claire’s enticing perfume.
“Alec,” I heard her say somewhere behind me, with a sincere voice. “That was the most incredible time I had ever had in my entire
life. I believe you now, well, even if I can’t see you. I truly do.”
We had spent all night together, flying. I couldn’t describe how wonderful it had been, with her especially.
“I’ll get the Amulet, so it can heal you,” she continued softly.
I turned around, and saw her get up from sitting on the bed, and travel to her nightstand. She only stood there, baffled beyond
belief. Immediately, dictating something was severely wrong, I strode to her side, and saw she clutched a torn piece of paper from her journal with a trembling hand. Past her, I beheld where the
Amulet had once lain, it was empty, the Amulet simply gone. My heart crumbled in idiotic regret and disbelief. My eyes instantly went to the piece of paper she held so tremulously, my mind reeling
“Read this,” she said her voice shaking with a realized horror.
I delicately took the ripped piece of paper and cast a wary sight over it. Written upon it was the unmistakable Magical Ink that only
a wand could have fashioned. It was slanted, blotted cursive that glittered in the light, but took away none of its grave deadliness, for it read:
I have taken two valuables from you Claire Allworth. One I care much for, the other I care nothing of, but I’m quite sure you do. To retrieve
this valuable of yours look for a black car at three, for what it’s Worth. Don’t be late.
M. P. P.
P. S. Walking is a healthier choice.
When I finished reading, I looked up and our eyes met—even if she couldn’t see me—and through our stares, separated worlds apart in
visual sight conveyed the same unbelievable meaning. This thief had taken not only the Amulet of Vigoratus, but also Claire’s mother.
We knew clearly what we had to do, but exactly how that would be done with such a peculiar pair: a girl, whose history was more
magical than she had willed herself to believe, and I,a Cursed, invisible wizard, well, that was another story.
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