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“Who would do such a thing?” I whined, feeling a sense of fear and helplessness wash over me.
“I don’t know. We’ll have to do a regression.” She reassured me, snapping to with an air of resolution. Her eyes now clear, she dusted her hands off and stood up.
“A past life regression?” Maverick asked, his voice barely masking the tremor of uncertainty.
“Yes,” she confirmed, nodding slowly. “We need to trace back through your soul’s journey to find the source of the curse. Only then can we hope to understand and perhaps break it.”
The room seemed to grow colder, the stuttering candlelight unsettling shapes. A shiver ran through me, not just from the chill but from the seriousness of the revelation. The incense became overpowering, and the sudden, sharp tang of dissonance pressed down on me.
Maverick reached out and took my hand, his grip firm but comforting. I wanted to pull away, but I needed the support. “We’ll get through this.” His voice was steady, though his eyes betrayed his own apprehension.
I nodded, trying to draw strength from his resolve. But I knew that whatever lay ahead would change everything, and I didn’t know which way I wanted it to go.
“We’ll follow your soul’s journey back in time until we find the source. The moment the curse took hold. I’ll try to evaluate the curse itself, and perhaps, if we watch long enough, we can gain some understanding of the context of the life your soul’s body was living back then.”
Seraphina stood up with a fluid grace, her long, dark robe whispering against the floor as she moved. She retrieved a small, ornate bowl and a bottle filled with a shimmering, iridescent liquid from a high shelf cluttered with artifacts and ancient tomes. The air seemed to thicken with anticipation, the scent of burning sage converging with the earthy aroma of aged wood and dried herbs.
She returned to the table and gestured for me to cup my hands together. As the cool, viscous liquid poured into my palms, it shimmered with an obvious, magical light, reflecting the fluttering candle flames. Seraphina dipped her finger into the liquid and began to trace bold, methodical lines down my face.
The liquid felt cool and tingly against my skin. She sketched a line down the center of my nose, the sensation sending a shiver through me. Then she traced a path from my left cheekbone down to my chin. She repeated the motion on the right side, her touch both definitive and intentional. Finally, she drew an arc across my forehead, from one temple to the other.
As the tingling on my skin grew from the lines outward to meet each other, Seraphina began to chant, her voice low and melodic, the ancient Latin words reverberating in the cramped, candle-lit room. The energy shifted into a palpable, thrumming force, pulsing with each syllable, wrapping around me. A tapestry of sound and magic that vibrated through my very soul.
With a sudden, sharp snap of energy across my shoulders, as if an invisible whip had cracked against my skin, I jolted straight. The sensation was startling, and I gasped as it traveled down my spine, a serpentine coil of power slithering between each vertebra. It spread like wildfire, both hot and cold, radiating outwards to encompass my entire back, up my neck, and over my skull.
The energy invaded my mind like fire ants, a crawling, insistent presence that burrowed into my brain. My thoughts seemed to scatter and rearrange, a kaleidoscope of fragmented memories and sensations. The room around me faded, replaced by a swirling vortex of colors and shapes. I could almost feel my soul being shoved backward through the fabric of time as Seraphina’s chant faded further and further away, as if underwater.
And then I was no longer anchored to the present or even myself. The energy coursed through me, guiding my consciousness back through the years, unraveling the threads of my past lives. Each pulse of magic drew me further and further from every comfort and familiar experience I clung to in life.
The journey was disorienting, a blur of faces, places, and emotions flashing before my eyes. The concern in Maverick’s voice, deep but muffled beside me, cut through, disturbing the path forward. “Are you okay, Tess?”
“It can be uncomfortable, but she’s fine. You must be quiet, seraphim.”
He grunted, and she continued her enchantment, the unceasing energy like continuous static electricity charging through my body.
“Don’t forget to breathe steadily, dear,” Seraphina reminded me, her voice a soothing balm amidst the turmoil.
I tried to focus on her words, drawing in deep, steady breaths, but the staggering sense of something clawing at my insides made me want to curl into a ball and beg for mercy. My body felt like it was being torn apart and reassembled in a different dimension, every nerve ending sizzling like a Fourth of July sparkler.
And then, as suddenly as it began, the sensation cleared. I found myself enveloped in a soft, ethereal haze, watching a woman, about thirty years old, curled in a ball on a dark and dusty floor. Her features were delicate but pained, her eyes filled with a lifetime of suffering. Slowly, she grew younger and younger, the background twisting and morphing through hundreds of indecipherable settings until the baby faded from view entirely.
Then another woman appeared, this one in her forties, but already haggard and surrendered. She regressed through her lifetime and disappeared. And another. The process repeated, a succession of figuresemerging from the mist, each one regressing from their final moments back to their beginnings.
The air around me was thick with a strange, otherworldly fragrance, a fusion of jasmine and old parchment interwoven with a faint metallic tang. My vision was slightly blurred at the edges, as if I were peering through a veil of gossamer. Each soul was tarred with a dark, inky shadow that pulsed gently with their heartbeats. Some were women, some were men, all from progressively earlier times and places, their clothing and surroundings shifting with each transition.
Some began at younger ages than others, their lives cut short by unseen forces, while others seemed to reverse through more years, but none ever appeared elderly. Fifty was the oldest any of them could have been, their lives ending prematurely in a cycle of relentless torment.
As I watched, I began to recognize the pattern. These were not random visions, but the progression of my soul through time. Each life, each face, was trapped in a loop of misery and untimely death.
I watched each woman, and occasionally a man, from their death back through their lifetime to their birth, and then the next, from death to birth, to death to birth. It was a haunting cycle, a relentless march backward through history, showing me the inescapable fate that had plagued my soul for centuries.
The realization hit me like a physical blow. I was cursed to be miserable and die young in every lifetime, over and over again. The air grew colder as the burden of this truth settled over me. The faces before me blurred together, a tapestry of sorrow and despair woven through the ages.
The world around me spun, the soft glow of the figures echoed like candle flames in a draft. Each breath felt heavy, laden with the grief of a thousand lifetimes. The scent of jasmine grew stronger, almost suffocating, mingling with the metallic taste in my mouth. The energythat had slithered through my bones now coiled around my heart, squeezing tight.
Seraphina’s chant continued, a steady rhythm that urged us forward as we journeyed for answers, even as I was pulled through the past. I clung to the sound of her voice, anchoring myself in its familiar cadence, afraid of losing a grip of any shred of sanity that might remain. The faces of my past lives stared back at me, each one juxtaposed over the other, their eyes an amalgamation of anguish and despair, a reminder of the curse that bound us all together.
I took another deep breath, steadying myself. This was my journey, my history to uncover. As painful as it was, I knew I had to see it through to the end. Only then could I hope to break the cycle and find peace for my soul.
