I did not expect to stay with her this long.
I thought I would leave her after a few minutes, as I had left everything before.
But the night passed… and her voice kept filling the space.
We sat by a small fire I had lit from scraps of wood.
She spoke, and I listened in silence.
About ordinary things… about flowers, about the sky before it was tainted, about the sound of rain when it hits glass.
I watched her and thought:
How can someone speak of simple things as if they were miracles?
I laughed bitterly and said to her:
— "As if you have never seen the ruin."
She answered with a calm smile:
— "I saw it. But I decided not to live in it. Even if it engulfs me, I will keep something clean inside."
I pondered her words for a long time.
I had no reply.
Only… I found myself smiling, a small smile I had not known still lived on my face.
---
Days passed, and I kept coming back to her.
I don't know why.
Maybe because I felt I would suffocate if I did not see her.
I watched her arrange flowers with her hands.
Her fingertips on the petals were like incantations.
And I… wondered.
How can a hand remain soft amid all this blood?
Once I asked her:
— "Why do you love flowers?"
She lifted a white blossom toward the light and said:
— "Because they know how to live despite a short life. Every flower dies quickly… but it gives all its beauty before it leaves."
I was silent for a moment.
Then I said slowly:
— "If I were a flower… I would have withered before I grew."
She looked at me long, her eyes carrying sorrow that was not without warmth:
— "No. You're… different. You have much death in you, yes… but there is life hidden too."
---
Something strange was happening inside me.
With each passing day, I felt myself changing.
The curse still laughed in my depths, but it was no longer alone.
There was another voice… her voice.
And sometimes… when I looked at her, I saw something else.
Blurred features overlayed her face.
Another smile… another hand.
I would tremble.
And suddenly, without meaning to, I would say to her:
— "You resemble her."
She would freeze and ask me, quietly afraid:
— "Who…?"
I would try to answer.
Mary.
But the word always turned to ash on my tongue.
She would come closer, touch my hand, and say:
— "Tell me about her."
I closed my eyes and tried to remember.
I saw a woman laughing, a woman crying, a woman reaching out to me.
But her face was mist, her voice mist—everything a haze.
I opened my eyes fast and cried out:
— "I can't! I can't see her!"
She gripped my hand tightly and said, her voice mixed with plea and fear:
— "Even if you don't remember her… maybe it's enough that you remember you loved."
---
Her words pierced me like an arrow.
Loved?
Am I really capable of love after everything that has happened?
Or is love just another curse, stolen the moment you draw near?
I looked at her for a long time, longer than I should.
In that moment… I felt that if I left her, I would die.
But I also felt that if I drew closer… I would break her.
---
The nights grew longer.
I sat beside her, listening to her stories.
And sometimes, I would just stare into the fire and wonder:
Is this… my new life? Could I be… someone else?
But the curse… did not let me go.
It whispered whenever I laughed with her:
"They will betray you. They always betray."
"She is just another face… like the misted faces you could not save."
"When she reaches out—she will stab your heart."
I fought those whispers.
But I knew… the curse was not always lying.