𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 - 𝐄 𝐂𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗨𝗘𝗗

𝐗𝐕𝐈

𝘊𝘏𝘈𝘗𝘛𝘌𝘙 𝘚𝘐𝘟𝘛𝘌𝘌𝘕

(the cursed witch, act one)

NINA HAD GIVEN UP ON HER VENTURE TO DRIVE. She was worried that by the time they had trekked down the mountain, her legs would have turned to mush.

Edward could drive well, when he kept the speed reasonable, she had to admit. Like so many things, it seemed to be effortless to him. He barely looked at the road, yet the tires never deviated so much as a centimeter from the center of the lane. He drove one-handed, holding her hand on the seat. Sometimes he gazed into the setting sun, sometimes he glanced at her— her face, her hair blowing out the open window, their hands twined together.

He had turned the radio to an oldies station, and he sang along with a song she'd never heard. He knew every line.

"You like fifties music?" She asked, having completely forgotten her worries.

"Music in the fifties was good. Much better than the sixties, or the seventies, ugh!" He shuddered. "The eighties were bearable."

"Are you ever going to tell me how old you are?" She asked,  grinning in amusement as his musical rant. 

"Does it matter much?" His smile remained. 

"No," She shook her head. "But I would like to know which insult I should be using to describe you. Does dinosaur work? Antique? Or would dirt be better? Ooh, what about an atom? Or should I call you the big bang?... No, that one sounds like a sex reference and Jessica wouldn't shut up about it."

Edward chuckled at her. "Well, I can assure you I'm not 13 million years old so we can cross big bang off the list. I suppose..." He didn't want to say it but he said it for her, "Antique would be best."

"Come on," She egged him on. "Just tell me a number."

"I wonder if it will upset you," He reflected to himself. He gazed into the sun; the minutes passed.

"Try me," She finally said, squeezing his hand in reassurance. He sighed, and then looked into her eyes, seeming to forget the road completely for a time. Whatever he saw there must have encouraged him. He looked into the sun — the light of the setting orb glittered off his skin in ruby-tinged sparkles — and spoke.

"I was born in Chicago in 1901." He paused and glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. Her face was carefully unsurprised, patient for the rest. He smiled a tiny smile and continued. "Carlisle found me in a hospital in the summer of 1918. I was seventeen, and dying of the Spanish influenza."

He heard her intake of breath, though it was barely audible to her own ears. He looked down into her eyes again.

"I don't remember it well — it was a very long time ago, and human memories fade." He was lost in his thoughts for a short time before he went on. "I do remember how it felt, when Carlisle saved me. It's not an easy thing, not something you could forget."