The slam of the door behind them closed out every fleeting thought of light, and from the abysmal hallway came a reeking waft of mildew. Still, remarkably, Reide's hand was warm. Andreya swallowed the acrid taste of fear in her throat.

"Well, don't just stand there." The impish man who'd answered the door now shoved her deeper into the hall and Andreya squeaked. "You're not the only people who come by here wanting to ask a question. Get on with it."

"To the right, then?" Reide asked.

Andreya could barely make out the edges of the floorboards; there were doors on either side of them and Reide's figure ahead, but it was difficult to distinguish between shades of shadow. Still, she managed not to slam into a wall while following his steps until, with a quick movement and a distinct fwick, the light of a minuscule match illuminated the entire room—for they had, of course, entered a room.

And there, right in the middle of it, was a bear-like man sitting cross-legged on the floor and staring at them.

Andreya held in her gasp, maintaining her composure once again as the large man lit a lantern with the still-burning match. The walls were plain, no chairs or decorations to adorn the room in any way. The only occupants were them and the man, except when she checked behind her, the door was already closed and their escort was gone. The only ones who remained were her, Reide, and this new man still sitting on the floor. He looked eccentric, all covered in animal pelts with matted white hair. She tried not to meet his eyes.

"State your business." His voice was as gritty as the rest of him.

"You are the spiritist Mister Omula Sabar?" Reide asked.

In response, the man grunted. It seemed to be the most certainty they would get. Reide sat across from him on the floor and Andreya immediately followed suit.

Reide glanced at her and then to Sabar as if to say, This is the guy you've been wanting to see. Tell him about your thing!

Andreya's ability to read expressions wasn't excellent after so many years of seeing only her own face, but she understood enough of it and, with a slow inhale, finally looked at the spiritist for real.

He stared back with big black eyes, almost as if seeing straight through her, and a wave of shivers cascaded down her spine.

"I am... Andreya. Marivatan." If he truly was a spiritist, he would sense any untruth anyway. "And Death does not know who I am."

A long pause came over the plain, candlelit room. Andreya did not know what to expect from the man's reaction, but she was expecting at least some sort of reaction, surely. Instead, Sabar simply blinked as if waiting for her to continue. She shifted her skirts and steeled herself again before recounting her misfortunes.

"I was murdered eighteen years ago along with the rest of my family, in the deep of the night, except I awoke the next morning when everyone else did not. Several days ago, I was wounded and healed within moments, my skin intact." She traced a finger along her cheek and waited for the man to say something. When he did not, she flicked her gaze to Reide and tried not to linger on his surprised look before continuing. "I... was charged with witchcraft and executed by guillotine, but I awoke from that, as well, and fled from Nasavte. You see, I cannot die. Every time I do, I speak with Death, and Death says it does not know me, and that I cannot die."

Andreya had nothing more to say, and so the room fell once again to silence. It took several moments before the large man in front of them finally moved, breaking his unnerving eyes from her and reaching behind his back. Andreya went rigid when his hand returned gripping a long knife.

"What is that for?" Reide sounded less fearful than he did threatened.

"Proof," Sabar said. His voice was deep enough to be hypnotic if it weren't so unsettling. Especially coupled with the glint of his blade in the candlelight. "Give me your arm, Nasavtite."

"That's absurd!" Reide threw his arm out in front of Andreya, but she hardly noticed it. "You're a spiritist, aren't you? You should not need to injure her to prove her case..."

Andreya stared at the blade. She had been asking questions for years with the echoes in her empty manor as the only reply, and if this man held the answers after which she had been so yearning, this was nothing to the blood she had already spilt.

Reide was halfway to his feet when Andreya slid the sleeve of her red and orange dress up to her elbow and cleared her throat. At the same moment Sabar's attention jerked to her with a certain animosity, Reide's protests stuttered to a halt mid-sentence.

"You're not... going to do it, are you, Andreya?" His alarmed expression raised Andreya's brow.

"Do you also require proof, Hafiless?" she said. "You forget this has been my goal all along."

He had never looked so conflicted. Still, just as she thought, he slowly returned to the floor, watching both her and Sabar with a distinct tension. She returned her focus to the burly spiritist, outstretching her pale right arm within his reach. With an unreadable twitch of his lip, the man lifted his knife with one hand and took hold of her wrist with the other, and beside her Reide was both ready to pounce and watching intently at the same time.

Andreya held her breath as the blade neared her skin.

And then it pierced.

And then it bled.

Her blood hit the floorboards with quiet plips, gleaming black in the semi-light, and as Andreya winced, all three of them watched the slice bleed down her forearm and between her fingers. Omula Sabar had retracted both his knife and his touch, and for several moments the only noise in the room was her breath and the drip of her blood.

Then her arm began to tingle as if it had fallen asleep, the dripping slowing and the edges of the wound drawing themselves back together as if her arm were an organism of its own mind.

Andreya had never seen herself heal, but it was a gruesome sight to behold, silent and bloody and entirely impossible. For the first time, the spiritist let out a reaction, his dark eyes widening and his large frame drawing back. He almost appeared disturbed, but surely not—unorthodox as it may have been, this man knew the remedy for her curse.

When the cut closed and the tingling faded, Andreya pulled a handkerchief from her skirt and ran it down her arm, revealing the new, unscarred skin, pale as before yet haunted with the shadow of quickly drying blood. She brought her gaze up to the spiritist and willed the question, "Do you require any more proof?"

"You have spoken with Death?" The man's voice had the slightest shake.

"Twice." Yet there could have been more she had forgotten about, a thought that had haunted her nights often since her execution.

"And you possess no scars?" he said.

"I have not aged, either, since the first time I died." When Andreya looked to Reide, she could tell nothing from his expression. He met her gaze after a second, and she felt it linger after she turned back to Sabar. The candle in the lantern beside them flickered and a smear of her blood remained on the floor.

The spiritist launched to his feet suddenly and Andreya scrambled back. When standing, the man towered like a rearing beast. Reide didn't move.

"I will not answer your question," Sabar stated.

"What?" Andreya pushed to her feet as well, though he still made her feel puny. She squared her narrow shoulders. "Why not? I have not even asked it yet!"

His heavy brows lowered and his eyes flashed. "You want to end your curse. You want to contend the will of Death itself. I tell you, you are not cursed, you are the curse. Leave now. I don't want your money."

Reide was standing now, as well. "What grounds do you have for such an insult? Will you not at least listen—"

"Out!" he roared, and the door swung open behind them, the little man from earlier immediately yanking them through it. From there, it was no more than a moment before Andreya had been thrust out into the alley again, Reide close behind.

Then the door banged shut, leaving them both to stare back at it and leaving Andreya to replay the spiritist's words inside her head like a chant betraying every doubt she had been refusing to acknowledge.

You are the curse.

──── xxx ────

How are ya, homies? This chapter was a tiny bit SpOoKy, huh? A little ominous? I'll stop now. XD

Comment if you have anything to say, it makes my day to see what you think! Vote if you enjoyed this chapter, and don't forget to check out some of the other awesome stories in the ONC community! <3