Cursed

The Callous Demon peered down at Leohand from its perch atop the door. Leohand glared at the leathery creature.

“Ah, I see you’ve met Domedra,” Tarvin said, coming back into the room. “She’s harmless enough, but few of my customers care for her presence. Cuts down on theft.” He chuckled.

“I’ve come for an item in your collection,” Leohand growled. “A Prayer.”

Tarvin’s demeanor became serious as he dropped his voice to a whisper. “I don’t know who you are, chum, but I don’t deal in Relics.”

“I have it on good authority that you do.” Leohand pulled a folded document from his coat. As he took it, Tarvin’s eyes widened as the tattoo appeared from beneath Leohand’s sleeve.

Nodding, Leohand declared, “I have carried this Curse for twelve years.” Tarvin felt the blood drain from his face. Few Cursed lived longer than three years. That this man had survived four times that long…

“Remember that before you choose to cross me,” Leohand finished.

Tarvin stammered, “Y- Um, which Prayer specifically did you want?”

[Originally posted on Ficly.]

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