The Cursed Doctor

Part 3

"May I ask why you're fretting over me?"

The leather tips of his glove stick to my skin slightly as he closely examines my exposed hip. Being up on the table with my skirt pulled up and his mask hovering above my pelvis, is uncomfortably reminding me of last night.

"My condition, I am unsure of its nature," he explains.

"You mean... your curse?"

"Curse?" He perks and stands to acknowledge me face to face. "Why would you use that term?"

"Is it... not?" I ask timidly. I've clearly gained his undivided attention. "I'm sorry, forgive me for assuming."

"No, do not misunderstand. My silence was not in disdain but an encouragement to continue."

"You would like me to tell you about curses?" I clarify.

He gives a curt nod.

I'm having a difficult time maintaining eye contact despite only his being expressionless glass ones. "My..." I clear my throat nervously and try again, smoothing my skirt down past my legs. "Many of the women in my family practice witchcraft." I look back at him, hoping to catch any of his subtle body language. His head lowers slightly and I shift my weight. "Witches practice many forms of magic, curses being among them."

"Magic, hm?" He hums. "You cast curses?"

I straighten. "M-me? Uh..." I'm wondering if I should answer honestly. He won't think I was the one who cursed him, right? "I haven't practiced magic in some time and when I did I fancied spells not curses, but— I have cast them before," I say delicately.

He slowly lowers his hands on either side of me upon the tabletop, leaning in close enough to smell the leather of his mask. "Educate me," he commands.

"S-sure." His fingers audibly grip the wood. "What did you want to know?"

"How to break it."

I smile unconvincingly to try and lighten the mood. "Right," I chuckle, "obviously. May I see it?"

"Hm?" He rises an inch in confusion. "See what?"

"The source."

"Source?"

"I thought it was your mask, but your hands seem to be experiencing the worst of it. Do you wear a ring perhaps?"

The doctor steps back. Quickly removing his gloves, he holds up his dark hands, showing no such ornamentation.

"Okay, maybe—" I speculate further.

"Curses need an object as a source?" he interrupts and lowers his hands.

"Oh, well no."

"Then why?" He leans into me again, either out of eagerness to learn or frustration at not understanding, it's unclear. "And why can't it be my mask?"

"May I ask how long you've experienced symptoms?"

"What exactly qualifies as symptoms of a curse?"

"Well I'm sure it's clear that the spreading corruption on your hands is one. How about that? How long has that been happening?"

We both look to his hands. "My nails beds darkened about four moons ago."

"I suppose it could be a spoken curse..." I assume as I hold my chin.

Spoken curses are very transient and usually not so severe. I reach down and take one of his hands. He allows the movement and I begin manipulating the fingers curiously.