Cursed Sentences Novels & Stories

“ it’s all recorded. Marisa and Boris’s face turned ashen, their blood drained from their faces. The room froze, the weight of Caleb’s words sinking in. Elder Haroun stood, his gaze piercing. “ Enough of this foolishness.” He declared. “ We have all seen what you are. Your actions are a disgrace, Boris. You will be stripped off your title as a councilman, effective immediately.” Boris’s face twisted in disbelief, his pride shattered in an instant. “You can’t do thi—“ “I already have.” Haroun said, cutting him off. “As for you, Marisa… your actions have not gone unpunished. You will be punished but not as harshly as Boris.”

Both genuine. The curse, Lena had written, was built as a question, not a sentence. It asked: can the wrong be acknowledged? Can the harm be released? If either answer was yes—if either side could offer its piece—the other piece would be called from the one who could give it. The curse would accept either route to the same destination. She read it twice. Then she read the specific instructions—the precise, careful technical language of a healer who had worked through this until she understood it completely.

"He's trying to contact you." "He's trying to recall me." Riven's voice had gone flat, the particular flatness of someone who'd accepted a death sentence and was simply waiting for execution. "The blood curse is escalating. I can feel it. The hunger is becoming... indiscriminate. Soon I won't be able to tell friend from food. Soon I'll hurt someone, and the correction protocols will activate, and I'll be erased and replaced with a new mechanism that doesn't have my particular error."

Sebastian looked away and suddenly a familiar scream echoed in his head. IT'S A CURSE OF A DAUGHTER. He flinched shaking his head and gulping down. Sparing a single glance at Darren he walked back to the punching bag grabbing it with both hands. The bag was slightly ripped off, why couldn't he get that particular sentence out of his end from the night she spat on his face? Something bigger and unchangeable might happen.

Two doctors in surgical scrubs, speaking in low voices that suggested confidential discussion. "—finally got the consult results back on the council member's son," one was saying. "Three different curse specialists, and none of them can figure out how to break it completely." "How old is the kid?" the other asked. "Five. Can you imagine? Some bastard cursed a five-year-old with advanced blood work. The ethics alone—" "What kind of symptoms?" "Seizures, organ deterioration, magical instability. They've been managing it with temporary fixes, but without breaking the curse at its source, he's not going to make it past adolescence."

Our time will come. The officiator – some grey-haired advisor with a voice like a dying goat – stepped forward and unrolled a scroll. "By decree of Alpha Lucien Dreadmoor," he began, "you stand condemned for trespass, for murder of castle guards, for witchcraft, and for being an abomination born of forbidden blood– " I yawned. Loudly. "–and are hereby sentenced–" "Sentenced to boredom," I muttered. Then I raising my voice, "Gods, you people could make a thunderstorm sound tedious. Skip to the part where something interesting happens."

Deadly. The one who cursed the world eight hundred years back. And would again.

Was it fate that made me see him the first time? Was it the work of fate that I wasn't killed? Was it the work of fate that I was assigned to work here. Is it the work of fate that I'm seeing him again? If it is fate, then there has to be a reason. The question is what is the reason? * * JAMAL Cursed! Cursed! I kept hearing the voices as I walked out, I shook my head yet it didn't stop and immediately I stepped out of the room, It was like something hit me in full force!

He told me casually, leaning on the wall in the corner, closing his eyes as I looked at him in disbelief. “W-What do you mean?” I asked apprehensively, disquiet about his words that I can’t die. “You are cursed and cursed ones can only be released. I was aware that you cannot live with this guilt but you cannot be killed by me. Either be released or murdered by another curse.” He told me. “W-What do you mean? No.. this can’t be. You know Carl, I am not a monster.” “I can’t be this… no… I could never become one of those, it’s not me! Carl, do something about it! Kill me, I don’t want to live! Kill me! Please!!”