Updated Mar 10, 2026 • ~8 min read
They prepare in secret.
Marcus thinks they’re insane, but helps anyway.
“Traveling to Scotland in winter. To confront an ancient witch. In her stronghold. This is how horror stories end.”
“Or how fairy tales begin,” Sera counters.
“Fairy tales where everyone dies.”
“Not everyone. The heroes usually survive.”
“You’re assuming you’re the heroes of this story.”
“We are. We have to be.”
Marcus packs supplies.
Iron weapons. Blessed salt. Holy water. Every protective charm he can find.
“These might not work against Isolde’s magic,” he warns. “She’s beyond conventional defenses.”
“They’ll have to be enough.”
Father Gideon contributes what he can.
Prayers. Blessings. A rosary that allegedly belonged to a saint.
“I wish I could do more,” he says. “But my power is limited. Against someone like Isolde…”
“We understand. Thank you for trying.”
“Promise me you’ll be careful. Both of you. The church has lost too many good souls to dark magic.”
“We promise.”
They leave at dawn.
Two days after the interrupted transformation.
Damien is still weak but insists he’s well enough to travel.
“The longer we wait, the stronger Isolde becomes. We need to strike now.”
The journey north is long.
Carriage through England. Ship across the border. Then more carriage through the Scottish highlands.
Cold. Desolate. Beautiful in a harsh way.
Dead trees appear more frequently the closer they get.
Isolde’s influence spreading like a disease.
“She’s killed the land,” Damien says, looking out the carriage window. “Just like at the manor. Everything she touches dies.”
“Then we stop her before she spreads further.”
They stop at an inn halfway through Scotland.
Small. Remote. The innkeeper eyes them suspiciously.
“You’re heading north?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Toward the dead forest?”
“You know it?”
“Everyone knows it. Cursed place. People who go in don’t come out.”
“Has anyone tried recently?”
The innkeeper considers.
“A year ago. A man. Said he was hunting the witch who lived there. Went in armed. Confident. Found him three days later. Or what was left of him.”
Sera’s stomach turns.
“What happened to him?”
“Something tore him apart. Not an animal. Something… else. Magical. His body was twisted. Wrong. Like the magic itself killed him.”
“Did he get close to the witch?”
“Must have. She doesn’t kill unless threatened. Prefers isolation.”
Damien leans forward.
“Do you know anything else? About the witch? Her habits? Weaknesses?”
The innkeeper laughs bitterly.
“Weaknesses? She’s been alive for centuries. If she had weaknesses, someone would have exploited them by now.”
“Surely someone has fought her successfully.”
“Not that I’ve heard. She’s death. Plain and simple. Anyone who opposes her dies.”
Not encouraging.
That night, Sera can’t sleep.
They’ve rented a room. Small. One bed. They’re married now, properly, so sharing isn’t scandalous.
But Sera’s mind races.
Tomorrow they reach Isolde’s territory.
Tomorrow everything could end.
“You’re thinking loudly,” Damien says from beside her.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I wasn’t asleep either.” He turns to face her. “Second thoughts?”
“No. Just… processing. We’re walking into almost certain death tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t bother you?”
“It terrifies me. But staying alive while cursed isn’t living. It’s existing. I’d rather die trying to break free than spend another decade as a monster.”
Sera touches his face.
The scars are still there. But they seem less pronounced. Like the curse’s hold is weakening.
“When this is over—if we survive—what do you want?”
Damien considers.
“A boring life. Genuinely boring. Managing the estate. Replanting the gardens. Hosting normal dinner parties where the biggest drama is whether the soup is oversalted.”
Sera laughs.
“That does sound nice.”
“What about you?”
“Same. Boring domesticity. Maybe children eventually. Definitely no more cursed witches or magical transformations.”
“Children,” Damien repeats. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”
“Too presumptuous?”
“No. Just… hopeful. I like it.”
They hold each other.
“Tomorrow, we fight,” Sera says.
“Tomorrow, we win.”
“You really believe that?”
“I have to. Because the alternative is unthinkable.”
They reach the dead forest at midday.
It’s worse than the forest around the manor.
Trees completely skeletal. Black. Twisted into impossible shapes.
The ground is gray. Ashen. Nothing grows.
The air feels wrong. Heavy. Like the magic itself is poisonous.
“She’s close,” Damien says. “I can feel it. The curse reacting.”
“Is it trying to stop us?”
“No. It’s… calling. Like it wants me to come. Like Isolde is pulling me in.”
“Resist it.”
“I’m trying.”
They proceed on foot.
The carriage driver refused to go further. Too afraid.
They don’t blame him.
Marcus insisted on coming. Armed. Protective.
“Someone needs to bring your bodies back if this goes wrong,” he said grimly.
Not comforting. But appreciated.
The cottage appears suddenly.
Small. Stone. Surrounded by the dead forest.
Smoke rises from the chimney.
Someone’s home.
“This is it,” Sera says.
“Last chance to turn back,” Damien offers.
“Not happening.”
They approach the door.
Marcus hangs back. Keeping watch.
Damien knocks.
For a long moment, nothing.
Then the door opens.
And Isolde stands there.
In person this time. Not a projection.
She looks different. Older. More frail.
But her eyes are the same. Black. Empty. Ancient.
“I wondered when you’d arrive,” she says. “Come in. Let’s finish this properly.”
The cottage interior is surprisingly normal.
Fireplace. Table. Chairs. Books lining shelves.
It could be anyone’s home.
Except for the magical artifacts scattered everywhere.
Bones. Crystals. Jars of unidentifiable substances.
Tools of dark magic.
Isolde sits by the fire.
Gestures for them to sit.
They don’t.
“I’m not here for tea,” Damien says. “I’m here to end the curse.”
“I know. That’s why I invited you.”
“You invited us?”
“The dream. The vision. Did you think that was accidental? I wanted you here. Wanted to see you face to face.”
“Why?”
Isolde smiles.
Cold. Sharp.
“Because I want you to understand. Before I kill you. I want you to know why you have to die.”
“I already know why. I humiliated you. Exposed you. Destroyed your reputation.”
“You did more than that. You made me feel powerless. Weak. Unloved. For the first time in centuries, I was vulnerable. And I hated it. Hated you for causing it.”
She stands.
Magic crackling around her.
“So I cursed you. Made you suffer. Made you feel what I felt. Isolation. Monstrousness. Hopelessness.”
“And now?” Sera asks. “You’ve had your revenge. Ten years of suffering. Isn’t that enough?”
“Enough?” Isolde laughs. “It will never be enough. He doesn’t get to be happy. Doesn’t get love. Doesn’t get redemption. He gets suffering. Forever.”
“Even if it means destroying innocent people? Catherine? Lilith? Me?”
“Collateral damage. Acceptable losses.”
Sera steps forward.
“No. They’re not. They’re people. With lives. Families. Futures. You don’t get to destroy them just because you’re angry.”
“I’m not angry. I’m righteous. I’m justice.”
“You’re a bitter old woman who can’t let go of the past.”
Isolde’s face contorts with rage.
“How DARE you—”
“I dare because you’re pathetic. You’ve spent decades hiding. Cursing. Destroying. For what? Did it make you happy? Did it fill the void?”
“It made him suffer. That’s enough.”
“Is it? Because from where I’m standing, you’re the one suffering. Alone. Isolated. Unloved. Just like you accused him of being.”
Isolde raises her hand.
Magic gathering.
“Enough talk. You came here to break the curse. Let’s see you try.”
She releases the magic.
Directly at Sera.
Damien moves to block it—
But Sera is faster.
She throws the blessed salt.
It disperses the magic.
Not completely. But enough.
“Iron and salt won’t save you,” Isolde hisses.
“No. But love will.”
Sera grabs Damien’s hand.
“Together. Remember. Shared sacrifice.”
She pulls out a knife.
Cuts her palm.
Blood wells.
Damien understands immediately.
Cuts his own palm.
Their hands press together.
Blood mixing.
“What are you doing?” Isolde demands.
“Blood bond,” Sera says. “Magical marriage. Deeper than vows. Deeper than contracts. Our lives tied together. Shared fate.”
“That won’t break my curse!”
“Maybe not. But it means if you kill me, you kill him. And if you kill him, your revenge ends. No more suffering. Just death. Quick. Painless. Merciful.”
Isolde’s eyes widen.
She didn’t anticipate this.
“You’re bluffing.”
“Try me.”
The magic wavers.
Uncertain.
The curse doesn’t know how to handle this.
Two lives bound as one.
Killing either kills both.
But letting them live means the curse could break.
“You can’t do this,” Isolde says. Voice shaking. “This isn’t how it works.”
“We’re changing the rules,” Damien says. “No more playing your game. This ends now. Either break the curse or kill us both. Choose.”
Isolde is silent.
For the first time in the conversation, she looks uncertain.
Afraid.
Because they’ve just taken away her control.
Her power.
Her revenge.
And now she has to decide:
Let them win or lose everything.
The choice is hers.
And she has no idea what to do.
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