Chapter 5: Kisses, Curses, and Catastrophes
By the end of week three, the soul tether had become less of a magical inconvenience and more like an embarrassing friendship bracelet that refused to come off.
Maribel had almost—almost—gotten used to Lucien's brand of brooding elegance, the way he glided into rooms like a disgruntled bat-librarian, how he alphabetized his death tomes by threat level, and how he refused to admit he actually liked the peppermint tea she'd introduced him to.
And Lucien?
Lucien had stopped flinching when she laughed too loud. He no longer threatened to smite furniture when she put tiny hats on his skull collection. And when she fell asleep reading on the cursed rug that occasionally whispered insults, he always made sure it didn't bite her hair again.
They were, against all odds, adjusting.
So naturally, the universe decided it was time for a disaster.
It started during an artifact restoration session.
Maribel was poking at a cursed mirror once owned by the Duchess of Screaming Regrets. It was twitching a little.
Lucien stood nearby, holding a scroll and muttering a preservation incantation. "This mirror is highly unstable. Don't touch it without—"
Fwump.
Maribel touched it.
"Permission," he finished dryly.
The mirror pulsed.
Then glowed.
Then—
CRACK.
The tether between them surged, glowing violently.
Maribel screamed.
Lucien staggered back, one hand clutching the tether at his chest. "What did you do?!"
"I don't know!" she shouted, magic sparking uncontrollably from her fingertips. "But my eyebrows are tingling and I think my spleen is vibrating!"
The mirror shattered—and from its cracked surface, a shimmering ghostlike figure emerged. It wore Maribel's face. Sort of.
Only this version of her was older. Darker. Wearing a corset that screamed "villain origin story" and a crown made entirely of bone.
"Ah," the ghost-version said. "I remember this phase. Naïve, loud, and tragically attached to sarcasm."
Lucien raised a brow. "Another cursed double?"
"I'm your future self," the apparition purred. "Or at least, the one you could become. If you follow your current path."
Maribel stared. "Okay, but why the bone crown? That's not even my color."
"I ruled the Obsidian Spires with a black-tipped wand and a thousand enchanted thorns."
"You sound exhausting."
Ghost-Maribel smiled wickedly. "You're on the verge, darling. Of power. Of love. Of tragedy. And he—" she pointed at Lucien—"will be your undoing."
Lucien blinked. "Wait, I'm the problem in this imaginary gothic prophecy?"
"Oh, please," Future Maribel scoffed. "You've already started to care. Which means one of you is going to break the bond."
Lucien stiffened.
Maribel stepped forward, her wand trembling. "We're not breaking anything. We're figuring this out."
"Oh, sweetling," her future self cooed, vanishing in a shimmer of dark laughter. "You already have."
When the mirror stopped glowing, and the shards turned back into harmless glass, Maribel and Lucien stood in silence.
The tether glowed red now.
Not pink. Not blue.
Red.
Lucien looked at it grimly. "That's not good."
"You think?" Maribel said shakily. "Red's the color of passion. Or danger. Or very angry love letters."
Lucien turned to her. "Did she seem... familiar? That future version of you?"
Maribel sighed. "Only in the way I seem familiar to expired glitter glue and poorly made decisions."
"You weren't evil," he said after a pause. "She wasn't completely gone. Just… shadowed."
"And she said I'd fall in love with you," she blurted, before she could stop herself.
Lucien froze.
The silence that followed was so long, it became its own entity and briefly enrolled in the Academy's awkward moments club.
"I mean—not that I am," she added quickly. "That would be absurd. You're undead. I'm chaotic. Together we'd be… like… a necromantic clown show."
Lucien studied her. "Is that such a terrible thing?"
She blinked. "Wait, what?"
"I'm simply saying," he said carefully, "that affection is not a weakness. Despite what some might believe. And... if I were to care, hypothetically, I would find you a surprisingly tolerable companion."
Maribel gaped. "Is that… is that Lich-speak for I like you?"
"I'm just saying I haven't cursed you into a toad yet," he muttered, turning away.
She grinned. "Aw, Lucien. You big romantic."
The tether glowed brighter. Warmer.
Not red now.
Gold.
That night, she dreamed of him. Not in dark robes, not in ghostly gloom, but laughing. Laughing. At her stupid jokes. Standing in the sun—impossible, yet real—and reaching out for her hand.
And when she woke up?
He was there in the doorway, holding tea.
"Thought you might want this," he said, awkward as ever.
She sat up, heart thudding, tether pulsing gently between them.
Maybe the curse wasn't such a curse.
Maybe it was the beginning of something dangerous.
Something forbidden.
Something golden.