BLOOD CURSE

​The annual Harvest Blessing Festival was three days away, and the village of Oakhaven was buzzing. The festival meant singing, feasting, and, most importantly, the blessing of the year's seeds by Maester Torius, ensuring a fruitful autumn. For Elara, it meant hiding. ​She was helping her mother, Anya, prepare baked bread for the feast. Anya was a quiet woman, her face prematurely lined with worry for her only child. ​"Elara, please, the wood box," her mother requested softly. "And remember the gloves. The splintering ash." ​"Yes, Mother," Elara murmured, retrieving the box. Even handling dry, dead wood required her thickest leather gauntlets. She could drain the residual life from anything organic. It was a tedious, lonely existence. ​As she brought the box in, Maester Torius, a tall man with eyes that missed nothing, entered their cottage. He wasn't overtly unkind, but his scrutiny always felt like a cold draft. ​"Anya, is Elara attending the Blessing this year?" he asked, his gaze fixed on Elara's heavily gloved hands. ​"Of course, Maester," Anya lied smoothly. "She is looking forward to the procession." ​"Good. The King's Lieutenant, Sir Kaelen, is overseeing our district this season. He is... zealous in his protection of the Harvest." Torius leaned closer, lowering his voice. "There have been whispers from the northern towns, Anya. Whispers of a blight, a rot that spreads unnaturally fast. The Guard is looking for the cause." ​Elara froze, the wood box suddenly heavy. A blight? A rot? Was someone else like her? Or was the curse spreading through the kingdom, the physical manifestation of her own terrifying power amplified by others? Torius’s eyes flicked to her, a hint of suspicion catching fire. ​"Keep the girl close," Torius advised, his voice now a low warning. "In these times, accidents are seen as design."