The Seven Curses | Book One of the 'soulbound' trilogy

Chapter one

-Aria-

The wind is rustling outside and the leaves have started to fall. I smile at the sight of the trees dancing, freeing themselves from the last remaining fruits before putting on their white coats. I glance at the river, bending in the oranges. Hiding behind the cities most popular building; the old church on the other side of the thames. I come here often, long after the doors to the schools library are closed. I grab my hand into the bag, in search for a tiny, scuffed book, golden emblems on it's cover. My fingers graze over the delicate leather, lost in thought. Strange that I found it on one of my mothers shelves; the mysterious book I kept an eye on forever; a diary, written from another person. A different one. Maybe happier, maybe someone who sings songs by the bonfire. I'm not sure what that meant. It's been years since she laughed. And I knew she would never again.

Your life is about to begin, I said to the little girl on the photo. You better smile today. She answers me with a grin, her cheeks red from the ice, the grey eyes full of glee of her new present: a key to the little box on her eighteenth birthday.

Winter 1986

If I remember one thing of her than those are the tearing eyes, her already fragile hands covering her mouth in terror. The moment she died. The moment I was alone. I've never seen her like this. The long black hair, she seemed like a statue, like someone the mortals could form with their hands, like my father did when they saw eachother again. I caught asking myself how he wasn't afraid of her; He smirked at the question when I asked him. He told me my mother had a something inside of her which couldn't extinguisch; Souls didn't burn for a long time, they only have one spark, before they are stepping into servanthood to the King. The dead eyes have been haunting me in sleep. He lied to us, his wasting words as well as lives to get what he needed: The peasants voice. And she saved him from the punishment. As I grew older, I was brought into society, in where I learned our ways. They turned out to be a facade as much as the tower on the island. I shield my face from the light, holding onto the image of a wasteland, She knew about the library. The key was hers. My breath slows down when I reach for it under the sleeves of my jacket.

The pines spread both to the west and the east, the sea always facing the sun and waking the dead. The sight transforms into a strange white light as I land on my knees, hands gripping onto something cold. I've never seen these things before. As if nature decided to bring peace between the kingdoms back and celebrated the arrival of the souls. Did they really return? Maybe they are looking for me, like my father used to. He would take me into his strong arms as soon as he found me standing on my little lookout he showed me. Hello my sunlight , he would say and I would ask him whether the sun shined in their place too. He answered that the sun would always shine as long as he thinks of me. I giggled my silly child laugh, while running towards him and laughing even more as he swirled me around himself, the queen herself standing at the other side. That never happened. Dad and all other workers were sent to a prison instead. When I found out he left, I stayed in the library I should never find. Then, I saw the reason; her dead body, bloodred wings, poked eyes and a key in one of her hands. Our King's daughter...

Aren't you cold, love? I tilt my head a little. Cold? I open my eyes once more to see a woman, like me, like mother, as I soon realize, without her wings. Poor thing, you are. We have almost Winter. She pulls out a jacket for me. That day she found me on a wintermorning, the snowflakes resembling tears oft he olympians as they mourn their future empress. You won't be cold ever again, I promise.

16 years later

As I flap through the first site a drawing gets my attention. A tiny key, along with six other keys, notes at the sides of each. I catch my fingers touch over the first one, golden, a sigil encarved into the bronze shimmering metal.