Chapter 1 The curse of Nimueh/the birthday guest

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This work, including all characters, world-building, and storyline, is the original intellectual property of the author(uche write)All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form without prior written permission.

WARNING/Introduction.

This novel is an intense Dark Fantasy Suspense containing mature themes, dark romance, explicit violence, blood, torture, and dark magic.

Enter a world where love is not a sanctuary—it is a weapon. Prepare for a toxic, high-stakes game where characters burn with obsessive passion while actively trying to destroy each other. Touch and trauma collide, and the line between tender romantic devotion and ruthless murder is razor-thin.

If you are sensitive to heavy psychological suspense, lethal romance, dark curses, or blood-soaked vengeance, turn back now.

You have been warned.

PROLOGUE

My mother, Mrs. Sleen, kept begging, her face drenched in sweat and her hands trembling violently. Blood trickled steadily from the wound where I had plunged the first knife into her chest.

"Nimueh... darling... you can't do this," she sobbed.

I stood over my father's lifeless body on the kitchen floor, staring down at my mother. My tiny fingers gripped the hilt of the knife tightly as crimson drops slid down the blade.

"I told you, Mother," I said softly, my six-year-old voice was calm and unfeeling. "I warned you not to treat me so well and not to pamper me."

I lowered my head, my eyes dark. "I told you i could love you. I could kill you. I told you I could hurt you."

"Please, Nimueh..." she gasped, clutching her chest. "I can take you to Wizard Klein and plead with him. Maybe he will pardon me this time and know how to break this and how to help you."

A bitter laugh escaped my lips the moment she uttered his name. My grip tightened around the bloody handle. "The same wizard who cursed me? For what reason?! I can't even love anyone because the moment I do, I end up slaughtering them!"

"But you never loved us,you have been mistreating us ever since you were a toddler!" she cried out. "You just turned six this month, and we still tried to”"

"Tried to make me love both of you more,mother"! I screamed, pointing the bloody tip of the blade straight at her before glancing back at my father's corpse.

I had stabbed him only moments ago. And now, as I looked at my mother, that familiar, dark urge returned. the overpowering force that always pushed me to finish the job.

I took a slow, deliberate step toward her. She trembled in absolute terror.

Without wasting another second, I lunged forward and drove the knife deep into her chest.

She collapsed onto the floor, gasping her final breath. I simply stood there, staring at both of my parents in total silence. My little pink gown was soaked in blood. My face, my hands, even my tiny bare feet... everything was stained crimson.

I quietly walked into my bedroom and picked up a piece of paper I had been studying for weeks”the details of the next family I planned to run to.

Mrs. Roseline and her husband, Clark. They have one daughter, the exact same age as me.

"Perfect," I whispered to the empty room.

I walked back outside, carrying a small jug of fuel. Without a moment's hesitation, I doused the wooden floorboards around the bodies and struck a match.

Within seconds, roaring flames swallowed the house.

I stood silently at the corner of the tree line, watching the fire consume my birthplace and my biological parents. The terrifying compulsion to kill them had finally been satisfied, leaving behind a hollow nd eerie calm.

Slowly, I turned my back on the ashes and began to run.

I couldn't remember how long my little legs carried me through the night before I finally collapsed in front of an unfamiliar estate.

It was Mr. Clarks house. I sank onto the cold stone steps by the front porch... and drifted into unconsciousness.

"Oh, little angel..." a gentle voice murmured as my eyes slowly fluttered open.

I looked around. I was lying in a beautiful, warm bedroom decorated with soft pink ribbons. A woman sat beside the bed, holding my small hand and smiling tenderly.

"I found you lying right in front of my house," she said softly. "Who are you, dear?"

A fake shiver ran through my body, and I squeezed my eyes shut, pretending to be terrified. Just then, a doctor walked into the room, checking my vitals and treating the severe bruises and exhaustion racking my body.

Throughout the entire exam, the woman never let go of my hand. She simply kept staring at me with kind, gentle eyes.

Once the doctor finished, he motioned for her to step near the doorway. They assumed I was too weak to hear them, but my senses caught every single word.

"I think she should be taken to the police station," the doctor whispered. "We need to figure out who she is, her name, and what happened to her. Shes just a little girl... she looks about the same age as your daughter, Mira."

The doctor sighed before both of them walked back toward the bed.

"Little angel... what's your name?" the doctor asked gently. "How old are you?"

I stared at him for a long, silent moment before slowly opening my mouth. "My name is..."

I paused deliberately, pretending to strain my memory. I slowly shook my head letting a few tears pool in my eyes.

The doctor exchanged a concerned look with the woman. "How old are you, sweetheart?"

"Six..." I whispered.

The womans heart melted, a soft smile touching her lips. "Where are your parents?"

I shook my head again, letting tears stream down my cheeks.

Immediately, she pulled me into a warm, protective embrace. Turning to the doctor, she spoke with firm resolve. "I don't think this is the right time to question her. Let's just allow her to recover first. I'm sure she'll tell us everything when she's ready."

The doctor nodded slowly. "Do you want her to stay here with you for now?"

At that exact moment, I reached out and gently wrapped my tiny fingers around the woman's hand. She looked down at my hand, her eyes softening as she looked back up at the doctor.

"Shes staying with me."

I let out a silent breath. Looking at the woman's warm smile, I made a strict vow to myself: I will never love her. Never.

My curse was absolute. The moment I loved someone, I killed them. Therefore, I simply wouldn't allow myself to love. I would keep my distance, act cold, and maintain a wall between us.

That was the only way to keep them alive and anybody close to me.

The woman gently brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. "Claire..." she whispered, her smile widening. "I think I'll call you Claire."

She looked at me with deep affection while I forced a tight, artificial smile. I couldn't even remember the last time I had smiled genuinely. Perhaps when I was an innocent eight-month-old infant.

The woman stood up and left the room alongside the doctor, leaving me alone in the quiet pink room.

Chapter 1: The Birthday Guest

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"Happy Eighteenth Birthday, Claire!" Mrs. Roseline clapped happily, stepping forward with open arms to hug me.

Just before her arms could wrap around me, I instinctively took a sharp step backward.

Mrs. Roseline froze midway, her arms hovering in the air. She quickly caught herself, forcing a polite smile as if nothing had happened.

"You're eighteen today Claire," Mrs. Roseline said gently. "You re an adult now, and I really hope you can start opening up a little more."

Mira, standing near the dining table, scoffed loudly. "I cant even remember the last time I saw her smile, Mom. Shes such a weirdo."

"Stop it, Mira!" Mrs. Roseline corrected instantly. "She is your sister. Remember that."

Mira rolled her eyes dramatically. "Then she should start acting like one instead of walking around this house like some lost, creepy puppy."

I glanced at Mira impassively before turning my gaze toward the floor.

Mrs. Roseline picked up the cake knife and handed it toward me. "Cut your cake, Claire," she urged with a bright, encouraging smile.

I wrapped my fingers around the handle. But the moment my hand gripped the cold metal, vivid memories of plunging a knife into my parents flashed violently behind my eyes!

In an instant of panic, the knife slipped from my hand and clattered loudly onto the floor.

I stumbled backward, my heart hammering against my ribs. Before I could lose my balance, Mrs. Roseline rushed forward to catch me.

"Please... don't touch me!" I gasped, frantically brushing her hands away from my shoulders. "I'm fine!" I whispered harshly.

Without waiting for another word, I turned on my heel and hurried down the hallway toward my bedroom.

"Mom... where did you even pick that freak up from?" I heard Mira ask from the dining room as I closed my door.

A faint, bitter smile touched my lips. Sinking onto the edge of my bed, I whispered softly into the dark, "You should be thanking me, Mira... I never allowed myself to love you."

Later that evening, party lights glittered all around the grand reception hall. Guests danced joyfully as upbeat music echoed off the high ceilings.

I sat alone at a corner table, my legs crossed, entirely unbothered by the loud celebration and the artificial happiness filling the room.

I reached for the glass of wine sitting before me, taking a slow sip. But just as I lifted the glass to my lips a second time, a hand gently brushed against my arm.

I snapped my head up and locked eyes with him.

A heavy, unfamiliar thump echoed inside my chest. Panicked by the sudden sensation, I quickly tore my eyes away from his face.

"Hey, happy birthday," Dickson said, standing beside my table with a warm smile. "Mira mentioned earlier that today was your eighteenth."

"Thanks," I muttered, staring strictly at the tablecloth.

Dickson took a slow sip of his drink, pulled out a chair, and sat down beside me, brushing a lock of hair off his forehead. "You're invited."

I turned my head slightly, staring at the thick, gold-embossed invitation card held in his fingers.

"I am throwing a small birthday gathering for my father," Dickson explained, his eyes fixed on mine. "I d really like people to be there... especially people I know."

I stared at the card for a second before looking away again. "I m not interested."

"Is there anything you re interested in, Claire?" he asked softly.

"Just leave me alone!" I snapped, standing up so fast my chair scraped loudly against the floor.

Before I could walk away, Dickson hurried after me and gently caught my wrist.

My breathing grew ragged, a cold sweat breaking out across my neck, but I still refused to meet his eyes.

"Claire, please," he pleaded softly. "I d really love for you to come. There's something important I want to tell you that night."

I let out a harsh scoff, finally turning to face him directly. "What is so hard for you to understand, Dickson?! You ve been bothering me ever since you moved onto our street! Is it really that difficult to realize that I don't like you... and I never will?!"

"Hold on, Claire”"

He stepped closer, but before he could finish his sentence, his phone buzzed in his hand, the screen lighting up bright with a new notification.

The bright display illuminated his face, casting a glow over his wallpaper photo.

My heart froze mid-beat.

I stared at the screen in utter horror. As Dickson tried to slip the phone back into his jacket pocket, my hand shot out like a lightning, snatching the device right out of his grip!

I stared at the portrait of the elderly man displayed on the screen, my eyes wide with shock, before snapping my head up to look at Dickson.

"Wh... who is this?!" I stammered, my grip tightening around his wrist with such unnatural force that he almost winced in pain.

"Woah... hold on, Claire! Your grip is insanely strong!" he gasped in surprise.

I immediately released him, taking a step back as I tried desperately to regain my composure.

Dickson rubbed his wrist, glancing down at the phone before looking back at me nervously. "That's my father. He just returned from England, and we're celebrating his birthday."

My heart pounded heavily against my ribs.

I quickly reached out and snatched the rejected invitation card off the table. "I... I'll come. When is the party?"

Dickson blinked, staring at me in complete disbelief. "Claire... are you alright?"

I nodded frantically, unable to tear my mind away from the image. "When is the birthday party again?!"

He pointed at the card, still thoroughly confused by my sudden shift. "The date and time are written right there."

I nodded slowly, slipping the gold invitation card into my coat pocket. "Thank you very much."

"Are you sure you re okay?" Dickson asked, tilting his head. "Why are you thanking me all of a sudden?"

I had no intention of giving him an answer.

Without another word, I turned and walked back to the secluded corner where I had been sitting. Pulling the invitation out once more, my thumb traced over the bold, elegant lettering stamped across the front:

MR. KLEIN

"Oh... he's seventy-eight years old now," I whispered softly to myself, a dark, chilling smile slowly spreading across my face. "You ve lived a very long life..."

A quiet, sinister scoff escaped my lips as I murmured into the shadow, "Wizard Klein."