I was transfixed by her gaze—an unyielding stare filled with sorrow and defiance. "A curse," I murmured internally.
What kind of curse is this? I asked, my voice barely a whisper, "That curse… I cannot say if it is truly a curse or not." Her answer was measured, almost enigmatic: "I cannot say whether it harms you or not."
A fragile relief stirred within me. At least, if it were benign, then perhaps I could let down my guard for a moment. "Then, what kind of curse is it?" I pressed gently, desperate for clarity.
She hesitated, a slow, deliberate smile playing on her lips before she spoke, "Let me ask you something instead…" Her tone shifted, charged with an insinuation that sent my pulse racing.
"Did you truly think that you were living inside a novel?" she asked, and in that moment, my heartbeat thundered as I struggled to decipher her meaning.
