Alina noticed the silence first.
Elina had always been quiet, but this was different—deliberate, guarded, as if every word now carried weight she didn't want to share. It unsettled Alina more than the nightmares ever had.
"Did you go out today?" Alina asked casually, lacing her shoes.
Elina hesitated. Just a second too long. "Just walked around."
That pause stayed with her.
At university, Alina tried to be herself—smiling, joking, letting energy spill where fear threatened to pool. But the world felt off-kilter. Sounds were sharper. Faces lingered too long. And when she passed reflective surfaces, she caught herself checking behind her.
Nothing was there.
Still, her chest felt tight.
During lunch, a friend joked about superstition, about cursed objects in old museums. Alina laughed too loudly, the sound brittle. Her fork slipped from her hand and clattered against the table. For a moment, everything went quiet.
She heard it then.
A whisper—not external, not quite inside her head either.
Soon.
Alina froze.
The noise of the cafeteria rushed back all at once. She forced a smile, picked up her fork, told herself she was imagining things. But the word echoed long after.
That night, she dreamed differently.
She wasn't trapped. She wasn't running.
She was watching.
Elina stood at the center of a vast room, candlelight flickering against stone walls. The ring hovered above her open palm. Alina tried to scream, to move, to reach her—but her body wouldn't respond.
Above them, glowing faintly:
88
Alina woke with a strangled cry.
She sat upright, heart racing, sweat dampening her skin. Across the room, Elina's door was open. Light spilled into the hallway.
"Elina?" she called, already moving.
Her sister was awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, notebook open, face drained of color.
"You dreamed it too," Elina said quietly.
It wasn't a question.
Alina swallowed. The last thread of denial snapped.
"You knew," Alina whispered. "You've known."
Elina closed the notebook slowly. "I was hoping I was wrong."
Alina sank onto the bed, breath shallow. The weight of it pressed down all at once—the museum, the ring, the dreams, the numbers counting down without mercy.
"How much time?" Alina asked.
Elina met her gaze. Her eyes were steady. Too steady.
"Eighty-eight days."
Silence filled the room.
Alina laughed—a short, broken sound. "That's not possible."
"I think it is."
The word soon echoed again in Alina's mind, colder now.
She stood abruptly. "Then we fight it. We don't sit here counting days like it's already decided."
Elina watched her, sadness flickering beneath calm acceptance. "Some curses don't care how loud you scream."
Alina clenched her fists.
"Then we scream louder."
But deep down—beneath defiance, beneath fire—fear had finally taken root.
Because this time, the dream hadn't shown her dying.
It had shown Elina.