Then, more rules were established. We could only perform resurrections when the loss of the soul was sudden and unexpected—and when it would put the balance of things in peril. Then finally, and most importantly, we could never try to circumvent our own deaths.
The Moirai allowed our family to wield this power of life and death, under the pretense that we were to maintain the natural order of things. In essence, we were relegated to keepers of the dead. It became our job to protect the souls of the supernatural, entombing them in the catacombs within our grounds.
For centuries, everything went as planned. All of that changed with our ancestors, Abigail and Warren. Now, we have all been paying the price for their transgressions.
I stop reading, shaken by this revelation. What on earth did Abigail and Warren do?
Irritation rises through me like a pot beginning to boil.
Clearly, she must have known this. Has she been using me all along?
I drop my gaze back to the page.
Abigail was asked to perform a resurrection on a child who was dying of cancer. Rather than refuse the request, because the death was neither sudden nor unexpected, she went ahead and did it anyway. Abigail allowed her personal feelings for the child to cloud her vision, probably because the girl was a close family friend—a Gilbert. I wish I had the gift to speak to Abigail so I could know for sure why she did it.
What I do know is, regardless, the action triggered a series of horrible events that have rocked our family tree ever since. Angered, the Inflexible One, also known as Aisa, cut Abigail’s cord in penance for this transgression. She died instantly and fell from the second-floor landing of our home. Accounts in newspapers say that she committed suicide because beside her body, they found tattered red rope. But Warren’s personal testimonies on record say she was in mid-sentence with him when she suddenly went blank. Then, before her body even hit the ground, her ghost was beside him.
Distraught and confused, he did the unthinkable. He tried to resurrect her.
He’d seen her perform the ritual enough times and evidently, he thought he could do it. Of course, he ignored all of the rules.
This was ultimately a mistake on two counts. He was not a necromancer, for starters. Secondly, in the attempt, he was breaking one of the sacred rules. He was trying to circumvent her death. A death determined by none other than one of the Fates.
The rest has been etched into family lore. Repeated from generation to generation—so we all know what is coming for us. This is what your mother and I hoped to save you from…
From that point forward, Abigail was cursed—never being allowed the relief of being delivered by the Angel of Death and crossing into the light. A statue was erected in the center of our driveway, hoping to encourage the Angel of Death to return for her. But I believe her presence still haunts this manor. Warren, on the other hand, was destined to deteriorate into madness; living and dying alone, despite having children to care for.
From then on, each generation of Blackwoods must pay a price to the Moirai. A price that is only paid with their life. When there are multiple children in a generation, it could be any one of them. The Moirai don’t care—men, women, necromancer, medium, or mundane human… They accept them all. We don’t know when it will come. For some, it’s middle age. For others, it’s in childhood. It’s all at the discretion of the Inflexible One. We only know none of our family lives beyond the age of forty-seven.
We also know the time for one of us is coming when red threads appear. The more frayed they are, the more we have to worry. When I saw them during your childhood, I thought the Moirai was coming for me. I never dreamt they would come for you first. Before then, it was unheard of.
I’ve spent the last decade searching for a way to make amends. To break the family’s cursed legacy and appease the Moirai so they will relinquish their vendetta on our family. Finally, after years hunting, I believe I may have found what I’ve been searching for. There is an obscure ritual from the Temple of Apollo that is supposed to allow me to open a gateway to the Moirai’s realm.
I’m going to beg for forgiveness and, if that fails, I have a backup plan. I will offer up my own life then and there, in order to save yours. To save any other descendants from a life of fear.
But if it goes wrong, and it might, it could be up to you to carry the torch and end this curse.
However, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.
I love you, Autumn. With all of my heart.
Forever and infinities.
Dad
xxx
Tears brim in my lids, blurring the words at the end as I try to read them.
So, it’s what I thought. He was trying to contact the Fates—and from what I can tell, they killed him for it and left his body to rot in the woods, knowing full well he’d deteriorate into a Lemure without a proper burial.
My anger swells, fueling a hatred for the Fates beyond anything I’ve ever known. I want to see them suffer—make them hurt as much as I do right now, in this moment.
To top it all off, Dad knew things might go wrong and he was willing to offer himself to save the rest of us.
Slamming the book shut, I fight back the sob clawing its way up my chest.
Abigail and Warren are intertwined in all of this, and have been from the very beginning. If it hadn’t been for them, my dad would still be alive. But now, I have to find his body and make sure he’s finally laid to
