For thousands of years, humanity has called her a child-killer. They have it backwards.
She sits with unborn children while they die, so none die alone. In all that time, she has never had a living child of her own.
Then she finds one growing inside her—a child her poisoned body cannot carry. She has three months to decide whether to let a grieving mother carry it, or kill it and spare it her curse.
For an immortal who has spent millennia longing for death, the choice should be simple. Instead, the woman and her young daughter draw her back toward the world she has spent so long trying to escape.
But becoming a mother means confronting the sister she failed, the child she lost, and the ancient betrayal that turned her into the monster humanity fears.
CURSED ONE is a dark, lyrical speculative novella about motherhood, grief, sisterhood, and the making of female monsters.
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From Chapter Nine. They meet in the woman's dream.
“I’m frightened I’ll kill it,” I blurt in exchange. “Or rather, I know I must kill it to be free. But I don’t want to harm it. I don’t trust my body to keep it safe.”
As much as I’ve ached for motherhood, it’s been comforting knowing I didn’t deserve it. I was the last person I’d trust to raise an infant.
The woman bites her lip, which is how I know she’s unsure about what she’s going to say next.
“You want to keep it safe, so that you can kill it. But if you do, humanity loses its only protection, and the sorrow of our most vulnerable will take over the world and burn it up.” She hesitates. “Isn’t that a little twisted and evil?”
“And I have less than three months to do it.”
“Right. Plenty of time.”
Contrary to the woman’s characterization, I am not twisted and evil. I am tired and empty. Humanity isn’t entitled to a future. Why must I be guaranteed this endless suffering?
“You’re better than you believe you are.”
I scoff, but not for the reason she thinks.
“You don’t want to hurt the child inside you, even though your plan might be to end its life later. You don’t want anyone to suffer.”
I’ve grown tired of this conversation. As a courtesy, I rise to leave instead of vanishing outright.
She reaches for me and grasps my hand in hers.
A jolt runs through me, from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet. It’s the first time she’s touched me.
“What if there’s a different way?”
I say nothing.
She bites her lip.
“What if I could carry your baby for you?”
My first line of defense is to frighten her.
“What if it turns out to be a monster, or the pregnancy kills you?”
She crosses her arms.
“I don’t believe it. I think the worst that could happen is that it dies, and you get what you want.”
I’m suspicious of her willingness to speak casually about a child’s death. I think it’s because she wants to be pregnant so badly, but when I tell her, she only laughs.
“Is it so impossible for you to think that I want you to have this experience? Before you came into our lives, I wanted to fall asleep and never wake up. It hurts me to say it out loud because of how selfish it makes me. You make me brave. You’ve done so much for others and expected nothing in return. How could I not want to do this for you?”
“I’ve wanted to be free.”
More than my freedom, I’ve wanted to be a mother.
I try a different tack. “It will miscarry.” She doesn’t miss my eyes flashing downward. Her hand moves over her abdomen, as though to deflect my disbelief.
“What if it doesn’t?” she challenges.
“I need time to think about it.”
“What’s there to consider? You said you have less than three months. Either we try this, and it fails, and you get closure sooner. Or it works, and you have to decide what you’re going to do.”
There’s an inevitability she hasn’t yet considered.
“What if it means I have to kill you too?” I whisper. She doesn’t know what I’ve done.
“You won’t.”
So matter-of-fact in her youth.