Cursed to Love You

I embarked on a journey of self-imposed exile. The northern forest was cold and damp this time of year. Each step I took pressed into the decaying leaves beneath me, their sodden remains whispering against my boots as I ventured deeper into the woods. The villagers had tried to stop me before I left. "There are wolves in the forest!" I almost laughed. I thought they were merely concerned about my safety—or perhaps just afraid of their own shadows. My family once lived at the farthest edge of the woods. According to my mother, the estate was grand, old-fashioned, and sprawling. A fitting place for someone like me—a college dropout, a freelancer—seeking recovery. I could still hear my sister's voice, shrill with hysteria: "She's sick! She keeps hearing things—things that aren't there! She asks me if I can hear them too, the howls of some wild beast…" And my mother, her voice heavy with worry: "Lillian, stop pretending you're a witch, will you?" I never lied. But no one believed me. I had always been frail, the forgotten child of the family, the one left behind. And when I started hearing them, my family abandoned me completely. Now, I saw it—the house. A three-story wooden villa, towering and vast, claiming its place in this massive clearing. Above its grand wooden doors hung an enormous totem, shaped like a crescent moon. The towering trees around it stretched their branches downward, their leaves veiling parts of the third-floor windows. Yet, what surprised me wasn't just the sheer grandeur of this old and exquisite building. As I stood there, gazing eastward through the layers of dense woodland, I spotted another structure—a striking white manor, stately and refined. Was that my neighbor's house? This wasn't the best time to pay a visit. I climbed the steps, retrieved the key from my bag, and unlocked the door. The house was well-lit, the warm afternoon sun streaming through the windows, bathing the interior in a soft golden glow. Inside, I found traces of the past—furniture, household items, even toys that must have belonged to my great-grandmother’s time. I ran my fingers along the smooth wooden railing as I ascended to the third floor, stepping into the grandest bedroom. Its window faced the open clearing in front of the house. The bed inside was covered in a thick, comforting Walden blue quilt, though dust must have settled over it after all these years. I pushed open the window—and then froze. A young man stood outside in the clearing. He was tall, with dark hair and sharp, striking features. He wore a loose gray hoodie and sweatpants. Good lord—was he not cold? This was the northern winter! As if sensing my gaze, he lifted his head. Then, he smiled and pointed toward the front door. Understanding his gesture, my heart pounded inexplicably. I rushed downstairs and stepped out onto the porch. "Hey, hello! Are you the one moving back into the Ravensdale house?" I blinked, slightly startled that he knew my last name. Though, thinking about it, he was tall and good-looking—perhaps a college student? If his family had lived here all along, it wasn't surprising that he had heard my family's name from the elders. So, I replied politely, "Yes, I'm Lillian Ravensdale. But I'm here alone, just staying for a while." He seemed briefly surprised but quickly recovered. "I'm Elias Veldon, your neighbor—my family and I live over there." He gestured toward the white manor. Veldon? Now that wasn't a surname you came across every day. Fine, I admitted—I was growing a little curious about that household. I told Elias I needed to unpack, and he nodded in understanding. Then, with an easy smile, he said, "Moving in on your own must be a hassle. Why don't you join us for dinner tonight? We'd all love to meet you." Had they all seen me move back in? A strange, inexplicable feeling stirred inside me. By all logic, it wasn't wise to accept an invitation in an unfamiliar place. But as I met Elias's bright, warm smile, I found myself nodding—like I was under a spell. He laughed. "That's the spirit!" Then, waving casually, he turned and sprinted toward his house. I noticed that he ran so fast. I wandered into the first-floor sitting room and sank into the wide, plush sofa. To my surprise, the house wasn't nearly as dusty as I had expected. The moment I sat down, my thoughts began to drift. I had put my university studies on hold, giving myself this year to write novels and draw comics. In the past, I had made some money ghostwriting for others, though my teachers and parents dismissed it as a waste of time. Suzy, my younger sister, had thought it was cool—until I started hearing things. After that, I lost my only ally. Sitting here now, I felt more relaxed than I had in a long time, a quiet thrill of excitement stirring in my chest. Being away from people eased my nerves. Leaning back, I glanced up at the golden clock on the wall, wondering if, just for tonight, I could escape the hold of LORazepam… Tap. Tap. A faint noise. Soft, deliberate. As if someone were treading carefully across the floor. A chill shot up my spine. I whipped around. Nothing. The window was wide open—I had left it that way. Maybe it was just the wind rattling the frame? Still unsettled, I turned back, only to notice something sitting on the shelf of the built-in cabinet across the room. Had it been there before? I picked it up. A thick, brown notebook bound in coarse leather. Inside, pages were filled with erratic sketches, marked in different colors of ink. The final page was smeared entirely in black, save for a silver-painted moon at its center. Across the full moon, someone had scrawled in crimson ink: “For our Luna Goddess.” What… was this? It had to be something that belonged to my family. A relic of some long-forgotten teenage obsession, probably nothing more than an old book of scribbled incantations. Nothing to get worked up over. Shaking my head, I hurried upstairs to the third floor, determined to make myself look at least somewhat presentable for dinner.