Madam Sutherland's Arc

Chapter 2 of 3

Madam Sutherland needed to understand the curse before she could break it. She pulled her purple hood forward and stepped out into the night. The grimoire's symbols still burned in her mind, but memory wasn't enough. She walked until she found what she needed—a carved tombstone leaning against a crumbling wall. Its surface showed markings similar to those in her book. She traced them with her finger, comparing each curve and line to what she'd seen. Some matched. Others twisted in ways she hadn't noticed before. This was how she would learn—one symbol at a time, one comparison after another. The work had finally begun. The tombstones had given her pieces, but she needed more. Documents. Original texts written before her grimoire existed. She'd heard whispers about a cave that held forbidden knowledge. The entrance appeared between two buildings, its mouth dark and waiting. She stepped inside, moving slowly. Her boot scraped against stone. Something clicked beneath her heel. She froze. A trap. She shifted her weight and heard metal grinding against rock. Carefully, she moved to the side and kept going. The cave's walls pressed close around her. More traps waited in the shadows—she could feel them. But somewhere deeper, past the dangers, lay what she needed. The ancient texts that might show her how the first death-magic was written. How it was spoken. How it could be undone. Hours passed in the dark. Each step demanded her full attention. She found three more triggers and avoided them all. Finally, the passage opened into a chamber. Stone shelves lined the walls, holding scrolls wrapped in leather bindings. She pulled one down and unrolled it carefully. The script matched symbols from her grimoire, but these were older, written in a steady hand that knew no fear. She took four scrolls and made her way back through the traps. Outside, dawn approached. She needed light to study properly. A street lamp stood nearby, its wrought iron frame rising into a classic lantern shape. She positioned herself beneath its glow and spread the first scroll across her lap. The ancient words began to make sense. This was the beginning—the first real step toward breaking what she'd created all those years ago. The scrolls revealed something she hadn't expected. The first curse-breakers used living plants, not dead ones. She needed fresh herbs grown in shadow, not dried ingredients from bottles. Behind her workspace, she found a patch of dark soil tucked between walls. She cleared the weeds and planted seeds she'd been saving. Nightshade. Wormwood. Moonflower. Each one would grow in the dim light that reached this forgotten space. She watered them and watched the soil darken. The garden would take weeks to produce what she needed, but the scrolls were clear. Fresh ingredients held stronger power for reversing death-magic. She returned to her grimoire with new understanding. The curse could be broken, but only if she followed the old methods exactly. No shortcuts. No guessing. She had her texts, her light, and now her garden. The work stretched ahead of her, but for the first time in decades, she knew the path forward.