Donovan's silence was oppressive, as his head throbbed with a relentless, dull ache. The voice that echoed in his mind wasn't part of the curse — it didn't carry the curse's mocking tone, but rather, it was something else.
It was as if a specter from his long past, buried for fifteen long years, was clawing its way back from the shadows.
The irony of that was that Donovan almost welcomed the promise of oblivion. Death sounded like relief to him. He knew he had made countless mistakes as a child, but how can he be held accountable? He was just a brutalized boy, enduring unthinkable torment.
Before he was put to sleep, on the very night of his botched execution, someone intruded into his unconscious mind. He couldn't see them, nor discern their actual identity, but their presence brought a cold, unsettling solace. In the end, his younger self struck a deal with this mysterious figure, wagering his very life.
