On my last day, the abyss curse went quiet.
The black veins had reached my temple during the night. By morning they had stopped moving. My pulse was weak, and the absence of pain felt stranger than the pain itself.
I lay on a divan covered with white furs in a chamber high in the castle spire. White roses stood in a vase near the window, their scent mixing with the cold stone.
Lucian read a leather-bound book beside the hearth. He had not asked me to explain myself. When my hand moved toward the table, he filled a glass and placed it within reach.
He had done the same through every waking hour in the castle: water, another blanket, a chair close enough if I fell.
He never asked for gratitude. He never touched the bandage on my arm without permission.
A hoarse scream rose beyond the c
