In order for me to tell you this story, I must first tell you another. 16th century; roughly 1,500 years ago, my great-great-great-great-great grandmother, a beautiful woman with a sailors mouth, got in a quarrel with a gypsy. Mind you, she was one herself. This story has been told and retold in my family for generations which can cause room for misinformation. Some say the fight was over jewelry, some say it was over clothing, while others say it was over a man. If I had to put my money on it, my vote would be a man.
The two women stood arguing in the marketplace, their voices intertwining into one as their shouts filled the noontime air. Spectators, with their heads, bowed to the ground, hurried past while others stood staring, wondering how this would end. Needless to say, it ended in a curse. A curse put on my great times five, grandmother.
My father likes to tell me that curses are "pagan voodoo used to scare the other person since they themself have no power to do anything and they know they would lose in a fight." Whether I believe that or not, I feel as though my life has been one big snowball rolling faster and faster down the hill picking up all the crud in this life, and it all started with that curse.
What was the curse, you may ask?
An autoimmune disorder.
Strange, you may think, and you would be correct. This gypsy woman cursed my family to forever have immune issues. An autoimmune disorder that only affects the women in the family. I, Anastasia Valentine Boswell, being a woman, am stuck in the same curse as all the women before me; having an autoimmune disorder and dying young. Pretty crappy curse, if you ask me.
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The Gypsy Curse
Любовные романыOne curse that has changed countless lives. A quarrel between two gypsy women in the 16th century over jewelry...clothing...a man? The story changes depending on who tells it. One thing that is constant though. The women belonging to the Boswell fam...
