My mind reeled; the birthmark on Celia’s shoulder, the one on my mother, now mirrored on me.
She revealed that the inheritance is a curse that can either be sealed or unleashed by my blood.
“Choose wisely,” she warned, “for the world will crumble if the seal breaks.”
The weight of the ring pressed against my palm, a reminder that my marriage was a lie.
Every promise, every kiss, every whispered future was a façade to protect the seal.
I felt the cold stone of the vault seep into my bones, the air thick with destiny.
In that moment, I understood: I am the vessel, the living conduit of the cursed inheritance.
The ring, the mark, the secret—all converged, making me the pivot between salvation and annihilation.
I slipped the ring onto my finger, the blood staining it anew, and the vault doors began to groan, as if the house itself sensed the change.
