Petra Inkson's Story

The last threads of the curse began to unravel, and in doing so, Ula did more than she bargained for.

Much, much more.

There was a hollow moan through the air as a breeze whipped through them, putting the fire out entirely and scattering its debris. With the wind carried a thousand whispering voices all rapidly chanting, growing in volume, consuming noise as they converted to cries, welling into screams. Oh! The soulless, famished screeches of something so inhuman, so shudderingly and completely without mercy...!

And then it stopped.

The silence was immediate, abrupt, and out of place from the racket for a few moments. Duke was left slightly dizzied from the state change. The only noise left was the feint fwup as the collar fell from his neck to the ground.

A last breeze floated by, whispering to Ula, I do not like you.

Ula's hand fell to her side with a heavy sigh as she felt the last of the curse fade, but her relief was very, very short-lived. She closed her eyes and trembled at the sounds only opening them with that last breath as her eyes -- full of fear -- fell onto Duke.

"It appears your curse-weaver does not stand idly by..." she said softly, her voice weak. The breaking had taken a large amount of her strength and her form was wavering softly. Bits of her skin, cloth, or hair were briefly becoming see through and an incessant dripping coming from her hair and chin. "Your favor has been fulfilled, then. I hope it is as you wished."

Cuspid slipped from the shadow of a hedge, "Sup?"