Silent Calm: Sterling's Obsession

, just waiting for the next plot twist. Bees still buzzing, herbs dangling everywhere-witchcore aesthetics on point. But Elara swore the air was buzzing, too, like the w

, and dudes like Damien Sterling? He'd probably pay good money just to

secret code. She dragged Elara through these rituals that felt like weird déjà vu-grandma flashbacks, big time. All those years of "help me sprinkle the salt, honey"? Not just grandma being weird. Actual protection magic. Mira started with purification: sea salt, rose

whispered, full-on mystic mode. "Your family's roots are deep." Elara almost rolled her eyes, but whatever, she played along. And, weirdly, something clicked. She could feel this low thrum in the floo

y walking Elara through basic spells, never losing her cool even after the third exploding candle. "Your mom's side is all about

oh, damn" moment? Earth magic. Mira kicked her outside, right into the garden, bees everywhere. "Talk to the dirt," she ordered, dead serious. Elara felt ridiculous,

d her hands in, closed her eyes, tried to listen for... something. The water was freezing, but she pictured it rinsing away all the leftover fear. Later, monster

ny mornings just breathing, trying to catch the wind's mood, waiting for some sign. Sometimes she'd get a tiny draft to waltz thro

g off all the leftovers of her old self. And Elara? She was starting to think-

ng with fireballs yet. Nope, Mira was relentless: "Feel it. Dig for that heat in your bones, let it burn up all your nerves." So, Elara did. She closed her eyes, hunted for that little ember inside-the bit that made her, well, her. And when she finally let it swell, it torched every scrap of d

, but now they were metaphorically smeared with something nastier. She understood, in that gross, "I wish I didn't get it but I do" way-parents do dumb stuff for love or fear or both. But man, it stung. First it was hot-angry,

ymore. Not after she realized Isabella wasn't even the target. Nope, he wanted Elara. Prophecy, curse, power-take your pick. And, somehow, knowing that didn't terrify her. If anything, it made her feel-yeah, not safe, let's not get

m alive? She spotted the scar on his collarbone-definitely not the type you get from, like, falling off a bike. Mira had said it: he was drowning, and the only lifeline in s

a Bond villain. Elara disappearing was a hiccup, sure, but he low-key thrived on chaos. He knew about her magic and, instead of blowing up her spot with the council, he wanted to weaponize her. W

the stories about the Sterling curse, knew the kind of havoc bloodline magic could unleash. If Elara was the real deal, she was a wild card, not just some pawn. Isabella started stirring the pot, sending out feel

ed to be background noise, not the headline. And yet here he was, pacing holes into the carpets, snapping at anyone who so much as breathed wrong. You'd think he'd just lost a fortune on the stock market, not a single servant. But that curse of his-yeah, the one he always pretended didn't get to him? Now it's acting up big time, flaring under his skin, making him twitchy, mean, barel

ing out to her across the miles. Her magic? Acting up, big-time. Sometimes the shadows would slink away when she looked at them, or she'd get a freezing shiver for no damn reason. Mira had tried to help-gave her some rinky-dink spells, charms strung togeth

sound. Damien, not in his fancy office, but trapped somewhere cold, stone walls covered in weird old symbols, looking like hell. Dude's screaming, fighting off these black snake things tearing out of his chest, wrapping him up.

nside her. The curse wasn't just some gothic accessory-it was eating the guy alive. And now she couldn't stop thinking, how much longer could he actually fight it? Was he gonna lose, or was he gonna take her down with