Elina woke without fear.
That was what frightened her.
The room was dim, early morning light barely touching the curtains. Her heart wasn't racing. Her breath was steady. The nightmare had released her too easily—like a hand letting go because it no longer needed to grip.
She lay still, replaying it.
This time, the dream had not shown her death.
It had shown Alina's.
Not directly. Not clearly. Just absence. A space where her sister should have been, a silence so complete it screamed.
Elina sat up slowly.
The number hovered at the edge of her memory, refusing to fade.
85
She wrote it down without hesitation.
The notebook had become an extension of her now. Dates, patterns, fragments of dialogue spoken by voices that did not belong to dreams anymore. She turned back a few pages, comparing notes from earlier nights.
The realization settled like ice in her veins.
The dreams were no longer mirrored.
They were diverging.
At breakfast, Alina arrived late, hair damp, energy forced. She talked too fast, avoided Elina's eyes. Guilt clung to her like a second skin.
"You didn't sleep," Elina said quietly.
Alina shrugged. "Didn't feel like it."
Elina studied her sister's hands. They were trembling—just slightly.
"You went somewhere yesterday," Elina said.
This time, Alina didn't deny it.
"Just looking around," she said. "Trying to be useful."
Elina nodded, though unease coiled tighter in her chest. Useful was what people said when they were already hiding something dangerous.
Later, alone, Elina returned to her research.
She focused on one phrase that appeared again and again across cultures and centuries:
The curse does not choose blindly. It responds.
Responds to what?
Love. Resistance. Acceptance.
Her breath caught.
If the curse reacted to intention—if it adapted—then Alina's defiance wasn't slowing it down.
It was reshaping it.
That night, Elina dreamed again.
She stood in a field of ash. The witch was there, closer now, her presence no longer overwhelming—just inevitable.
"She fights," the witch said calmly. "Just like before."
Elina swallowed. "Before what?"
The witch smiled. "You'll remember."
Above them, the number burned brighter.
84
Elina woke with tears sliding silently into her hair.
She turned her face toward the wall, pressing her fist against her mouth to keep from making a sound. Across the apartment, Alina slept—still believing that fighting meant saving.
Elina closed her eyes.
If the dreams were diverging, then the curse was making a decision.
And it was starting to look like Alina wasn't the one it was preparing to take.