What Love Costs

The curse demanded silence; she would die if she ever spoke his name.

For years, she had obeyed, calling him love, darling, my heart. As he lay dying, the silence became a weight she could no longer bear. She cupped his face, her tears tracing paths on his skin. She leaned close, her breath a ghost against his ear, and whispered the syllables she had locked away for a lifetime.

Pain, sharp and immediate, lanced through her chest. It was not the swift end she expected, but a slow, agonizing burn. She realized too late the curse was not as simple as death.