The next morning, Paris was covered in fog. The streets looked pale and quiet. Amy sat by her window, a cup of cold tea in her hand. She hadn't slept much. Every time she closed her eyes, she closed her eyes, she heard it the voice calling her name. She told herself it wasn't real. Maybe she was just tired. Maybe the stress was catching up. But deep down, she knew it was just tired. Maybe the stress was catching up. But deep down , she knew it was something else. Something she couldn't explain.
When she went to the sewing shop that day, her hands wouldn't stop shaking. The owner, Mrs. Valerie, noticed.
"Are you alright, dear?" she asked kindly.
Amy forced a smile. "Just didn't sleep."
"Try to rest more. You're too young to look so tired," the woman said, before walking away.
Amy turned back to her work. The hum of the sewing machine filled the air, calming her a little. She focused on the sound, the needle moving fast and straight. Then, out of nowhere, the lights flickered. The machine stopped. Amy frowned and checked the plug. It was still in. Then she felt it again the air changing, colder this time. Her heart skipped a beat.
She looked up at the mirror across the table. In the reflection, behind her, stood the faint shape of a woman. Long dark hair. Pale skin. Eyes like silver.
Amy spun around. No one was there. The room was empty. Her hands trembled as she whispered, "Who are you?"
No answer just the whisper again, soft and sad.
Moon remembers.
Amy reached home late that evening. The streets were still wet from rain, and her shoes left marks on the floor as she stepped inside. The lights were dim. The house smelled like cheap wine and sadness. She heard soft crying from the kitchen. At first, she thought it was the TV. But then she saw her mother sitting at the table, her makeup smeared, a half empty glass beside her.
"Mom?" Amy said quietly.
Her mother looked up, eyes red. "Amy…I did something terrible."
Amy froze. "What happened?"
Her mother wiped her face with shaky hands. "I'm pregnant."
The words hit Amy like cold water. "What? Mom you…how?"
Her mother laughed, but it sounded more like a sob. "It doesn't matter. He's gone. The man I though loved me…he left. Said I'm too old, too broken. I thought he would help us, but he just wanted fun."
Amy stood there, her throat tight. She didn't know what to say. Part of her wanted to yell, but another part just felt…tired.
"Mom, why would you-"
"I was scared" her mother said. "I wanted out, Amy. Out of this life. I thought maybe…maybe if someone rich loved me, things could damage."
Amy looked at her mother, at shaking hands, the tear-stained cheeks, and felt a strange mix of anger and pity.
She whispered "You didn't need saving like that."
Her mom broke down again, crying into her hands. Amy stood still, her heart heavy. Then she heard it so soft it almost blended with the crying.
The curse grows when truth is spoken.
Amy's breath caught. The same voice. The same cold feeling in the air.