“No,” I say. “We don’t have to convince her. We can do it together.”
My Middle Sister, for once, goes silent, but only for a moment. “I do not possess the power to break my own curse.”
“No,” I say. “But the two of us, our power combined, well, that could be extraordinary, don’t you think?”
My Sister pauses, as if she can’t help pondering this option, even if she despises it all the same. “The curse is too strong.”
“But we could try.”
She laughs, her voice wry and cruel. “You always did think too highly of your own ability.”
“There is a part of you, I believe,” I say, “that does not want your curse to be broken.”
Laughter reverberates around me, emphasizing my Sister’s amusement. “You really are as foolish as I’ve always believed. Why would I relish being cursed?”
“The same reason we all do,” I say. “Because there is something about enduring unmet anticipation that turns pain into an addiction. Something about that which we cannot have that causes us to believe that, if only we could finally grasp it, we would possess a thrill that would last forever.
“As much pain as the curse causes you, to let your mind, your hope, your cravings linger on that desire being fulfilled—it consumes your waking bones. It provides you a thrill like no other. You are afraid, Sister,” I say. “Afraid that if the curse is taken away, you will no longer feel that thrill. That there is nothing else that will provide it for you. Your desire is so strong, the desire itself has become what you feed yourself with—even if you can’t attain its fulfillment.”
“You sound as though you’re speaking from experience,” says my Sister, and not kindly.
“Yes,” I say. “So let me help you.”
“I do not need your help,” says my Sister.
“No,” I say. “That’s not true. You need it. You simply don’t want it.”
“You foolish, proud little girl,” she says, her shadows rearing up. But they can do nothing against me as long as she’s shackled in the adamant.
“Listen to me,” I say. “Look around. Look at the mortal.”
It is not out of compliance that my Sister turns her head. It is because she cannot help it—a chance to glance upon the man she so desires.
“What do you see in his face?” I ask.
She does not answer, but I know what she sees. She sees disgust for her, and wonder at me.
“Dear Sister, which Descendant has ever loved you? Has ever desired you back? Has ever cared for you or wanted good for you?”
My Sister goes silent.
“Your hope is cancerous,” I say. “You’ve been attempting to pick a lock for so long, you’ve forgotten there’s nothing behind the door. There is happiness, there is peace, there is contentment somewhere out there, waiting for you. But you cannot attain it. You cannot even feel it, or note that its existence is worthy.
“You cannot feel the depth of it because you are so set on remaining in the shallows. You would rather chase the waves that spill upon the beach to wet your toes, only to recess back into the water away from your grasp, than you would swim in the ocean. You are chasing something fleeting, my dear Sister. And it will never be yours.”
My Sister’s shadows begin to tremble.
“Let me help you,” I whisper.
She snaps at me. “I don’t need your help.”
I keep my voice calm. “Stop clinging to that which wraps its fingers around your throat and throttles you. Stop loving that which does not love you. Stop feeding a desire that does not wish to be filled.”
My Sister again goes quiet.
“How long will you hate?” I say. “How long will you be miserable? How long will you be alone?”
“I did not choose this curse for myself,” she says again, though more to herself than to me.
