Elina woke to the sound of her own heartbeat. It wasn't fast-at least not outwardly-but heavy, as if each pulse carried the weight of something she couldn't name. She lay in the dim half-light of her bedroom, staring at the ceiling, tracing the cracks as if the patterns held a secret.
The dream lingered, sharper than most. The walls, the suffocating air, the figure reaching out... she could still feel it, pressing against her lungs. Unlike Alina, who had cried out in the hall, Elina stayed silent. She didn't move. She didn't speak.
She remembered the ring.
The museum. That pull she hadn't wanted to admit. That cold, quiet tug that had felt like recognition. Alina had laughed it off, pretending nothing had happened. But Elina couldn't. She didn't need to see the ring again to know it had changed something.
It was small, insignificant
-just a metal band, darkened by age. And yet, the way it had touched her fingers... it was as if it remembered her, as if it had been waiting.
Elina rolled onto her side and glanced at Alina's bed. Her sister was asleep, curled like she always did when the day had been too bright, too loud. Alina would wake cheerful, unaware of the way the world was already shifting under their feet. Elina envied her sometimes.
The air felt heavier now. Subtle things had started.
The clocks ticked too loudly in her room.
Shadows didn't follow normal patterns.
She could almost feel the pull again, faint, a whisper at the edge of awareness.
It wasn't imagination. It wasn't coincidence.
Elina dressed quietly, leaving a note for Alina that she might be late for breakfast. The words felt hollow, like writing to someone who couldn't understand yet.
By the time they met in the kitchen, Alina was talking faster than she could process, recounting their day at the museum as if nothing had happened.
Elina listened.
She nodded.
She said little.
But inside, the images of the dream clung to her: the walls closing, the figure falling, the reaching hand. The face blurred, yes
-but familiar.
Terrifyingly familiar.
It was a warning.
And she knew, with the kind of certainty that scared her more than any scream, that the dream was only the beginning.
When Alina finally paused for a breath, Elina asked softly, carefully:
"Do you remember the ring?"
Alina froze. Then smiled lightly. "Of course. Why?"
Elina didn't answer. She only watched her sister's face, trying to read something there, anything that hinted at what they had both felt, but Alina was already laughing again, brushing it off.
Elina didn't know if it was denial-or courage. Either way, it didn't matter.
The pull was still there.
Somewhere, quiet but relentless. And Elina understood one thing:
The curse had begun.
And it would not stop.