Anette helped Ginevra into a cream white gown with long sleeves embroidered with gold along the hems of the dress. Anette spent more time than usual on Ginevra's hair. She didn't know who Ginevra was seeing, except that it was a guest of high authority to warrant such careful preparation. Ginevra, meanwhile, was getting cold feet.
Was it stupid of me to agree to something that I barely know anything about?
"This color complements your hair so much! And the gold brings out your eyes," she gushed.
Anette led her to the gallery room.
"This is the gallery room, Your Grace," Anette said, motioning with her hand. She would not be following Ginevra in. Ginevra hesitated, squeezing Anette's hand, before opening the door.
Ginevra stepped into the gallery, a circular room of white marble with great windows all along the walls and pillars which were arranged in a circle around the room. Thick velvet red drapes hung from the mezzanine. The rose-colored marble floor glistened in the bright morning sun. For a moment Ginevra thought she had died and entered heaven.
Taren was also dressed in a cream-colored suit. Nicco, Luca, and Boni were standing a little off to the side and back, also dressed in similar-colored suits. The Stregona stood among them.
She whirled around and walked towards the center of the room, her drapes flowing behind her. She produced a piece of chalk from her cloak and started to draw on the wall. When she moved away, Ginevra saw it was a pentacle. The Stregona moved quickly, drawing pentacles on each of the four walls. As she did so, Ginevra stole a glance at Taren. His eyes were impassive, but she thought she saw the corner of his mouth twitch.
Then, satisfied, the Stregona came towards the center where Taren and Ginevra stood, drawing a large circle around them, forcing them to move closer towards each other. Ginevra glanced up at Taren; he stood stiffly, and he was looking at her. Rather, he was looking through her, or perhaps within him.
She motioned to Nicco to draw the curtains, and he did so. As the room darkened, the lines drawn in chalk began to glow.
The energy of the room had shifted. It was just another drawing room only moments before, but the air was thicker now, pulsing with the imminence of what was about to happen. In the shadowy room, their white outfits stood out, like ghosts, neither of the world that had just faded out into the background along with the furniture, but not quite of the one that the Stregona had ushered in with a few chalk marks.
The Stregona snapped her fingers and Ginevra fell forward; Taren caught her by the elbows. She quickly stepped away, mumbling a thank you. The Stregona came forward between them. "That's better."
The Stregona made a turning motion with her finger.
"Now, Taren, remove your shirt."
Taren turned around. One after the other, his jacket, vest, and necktie fell to the ground. As his shirt began to slip off his shoulders, Ginevra noticed a tattoo spanning the length of his back. A mark of the curse? The body was shaped into a hollow diamond, its tip curling into two horns which ended at the base of his spine. Springing from the opposite points of the body were what resembled two outstretched wings of a bird in flight, with long arms twisting out every which way, curling at the ends, like some sort of exotic pulsing species of flora, looking as if they might unfurl at any moment to wrap themselves around their next victim.
The Stregona swept by and scooped them up, discarding them into Luca's arms.
Taren turned to face her. His chest was firm and well sculpted. Ginevra caught herself staring and glanced away, feeling the heat rush to her cheeks.
A dark liquid sloshed in a silver vial as Boni brought it forward. He bent on one knee, taking precaution to not trespass beyond the white line drawn by the Stregona. The witch doctor, now standing between Taren and Ginevra, stretched her arm out and dipped two bony fingers into the liquid, twisting them around for several moments before she took them out, dripping, and turned towards Taren.
Taren dropped onto one knee as the Stregona came around behind him and traced the curving lines of the tattoo with her two fingers. Immediately, the black lines began to slither on his back, as if grasping at the drop of life they had been fed. Ginevra blinked, and they stopped moving again. She glanced down; his right hand, resting against his knee, was clenched into a tight fist so that she could see the whites of his bones. Is he in pain? What is this liquid that she is touching him with?
The Stregona then dipped her finger into the vial again, but instead of turning towards Taren, she whirled around to face Ginevra. Ginevra swallowed. A drop fell from the Stregona's fingers to the floor. It sizzled as it burned into the ground. Ginevra involuntarily took half a step back. The Stregona's eyes trapped her. Do not fret they said.
Icy fingers brushed over her wrist. She felt as if she had been stung by a thousand needles; she looked down at her burnt wrist, but her skin looked as if it had been untouched – smooth and pale, while her insides writhed and pulsed with the heat.
Vis traducatur.
Ginevra sharply looked up as the Stregona mumbled under her breath. Vis traducatur et impedimenta tollantur.
The Stregona took Taren's wrist, he rose after it, and took Ginevra's into her other hand until they overlapped.
Ginevra didn't dare lift her eyes, keeping them focused on her hand to try and keep it from shaking.
Vis traducatur et impedimenta tollantur. Vis traducatur et impedimenta tollantur. The Stregona had started to unravel a spool of black thread in her hand and wound it around Taren and Ginevra's hands. Vis traducatur et impedimenta tollantur.
Ginevra stole a glance at Taren. His mouth was tight, his eyes intently focused on the winding black string, a fire smoldering in their depths. She could feel the muted pulsing in her skin where the Stregona had touched her flare up again. She could only imagine what Taren was feeling with his entire back aflame.
Nicco stepped forward and handed the Stregona a black candle. The Stregona took it and the flame flickered up under her gaze.
The tattoo started to writhe on Taren's back, its long arms curling outwards, shimmering and shifting in color like scales from black to a dark, evil green, and back to black.
Vis traducatur et impedimenta tollantur.
Taren winced, clenching his jaw.
Vis traducatur et impedimenta tollantur.
Ginevra looked down at the black thread entwining their hands.
Vos revocamus in corpus volens.
The black string had started to move on its own, wrapping tightly around their hands. Then, just as Ginevra thought it would start cutting into her skin, it started to fade. It's fading…
The Stregona's voice became louder and more insistent.
Vos revocamus in corpus volens.
Did she just imagine it? Before it had disappeared, the string had turned into a wine red color.
The room pulsed with her words, with the energy the circle around them was drawing in. Everything was buzzing around her, transfixed into a hazy blur, fading in and out. Ginevra bent her knees, digging her heels into the floor, struggling to ground herself.
Then, the Witch Doctor stopped chanting. Her pause was abrupt and unexpected, prompting Ginevra to look over at her. The Stregona's eyes were closed in deep meditation.
Was that it? She had expected some great smoke or the heavens to darken. She suddenly took a sharp breath in. Her chest was fluttering and she felt a ball of warmth rising up through her chest and slowly spreading to other parts of her body. It felt like spring sun, warm and promising without scorching. The room was growing brighter and brighter, until it was flooded with so much light that it cast a white curtain over everything, as if the sun had suddenly been brought down and stuffed into the drawing room, washing out, or rather sucking them into a white bottomless oblivion. Ginevra blinked, and found herself staring into Taren's eyes. They were a scorching blue, and she felt for a fleeting moment as if she knew the person behind them. As the white glint of the room faded out of them, like the setting sun swallowed by the waiting sea, they turned cold and impassive again. Her heart felt as if it would beat out of her chest. What was that? Ginevra looks down at their hands.Taren was still holding hers in his. It's as if something passed between us.
"Congratulations G, you have now cursed the duke," Luca said, smirking at her from where he stood.
Ginevra looked to where Luca, Nicco, and Boni were standing. They all looked other-worldy in their pristine, light suits. Everything was back to what it had been. The leather sofa stood at the end of the drawing room, the wooden table by its side with the small marble statuette.
"I cursed the duke," she repeated under her breath.