By noon, my clinic felt different. It no longer felt like mine.
Lyra Vex sat cross-legged on the treatment bed, humming as glowing curse diagrams floated lazily around her head. She conjured them without permission. To her, "visual thinking aids" didn't count as active casting.
I stood at my desk, reading Valentina's written directive for the fifth time.
Lyra Vex is to remain under temporary observation within Medical Support, Restricted Access.
All curse-healing interactions must be fully documented.
Any self-inflicted harm without approval will lead to disciplinary action.
"That last part applies to you," I said without looking up.
Lyra peeked over one of her diagrams. "Define harm."
I exhaled slowly. "Define 'temporary.'"
She grinned. "Optimistically? Until you get sick of me."
"That will be soon," I said flatly.
"Lies," she replied cheerfully. "You already tolerate me."
That was… unfortunately true.
A soft knock interrupted us. It was controlled and deliberate, nothing like Lyra's earlier entrance.
I looked up. "Come in."
The door opened, and the temperature in the room dropped several degrees.
Seraphina Valdris entered alone, dressed in her academy uniform, silver hair neatly tied back. Her expression was calm and unreadable, but I felt the shift right away.
The curse was restless.
"Your schedule shows an opening," she said coolly. "I've taken it."
Lyra's eyes lit up. "Ohhh. You must be the ice curse."
Seraphina glanced at her. "And you are…?"
"Lyra Vex. Curse specialist. Professional bad idea." She offered her hand. "Nice to meet you."
Seraphina ignored it.
Smart woman.
"I was not informed there would be an audience," Seraphina said, her eyes returning to me.
"There won't be," I replied immediately. "Lyra, out."
Lyra gasped theatrically. "You wound me."
"Out."
She hopped off the bed slowly, gathering her floating diagrams. At the door, she paused.
"For the record," she said brightly to Seraphina, "if you feel warm in places you shouldn't, that's a good sign."
Seraphina's glare could have frozen lava.
Lyra vanished.
I locked the door.
"Apologies," I said. "She lacks self-preservation instincts."
Seraphina sat without prompting, her posture rigid.
"She is not wrong," she said quietly.
I paused. "…About which part?"
"The sensation," she replied. "It has not faded."
That confirmed my suspicion.
"Describe it," I said, stepping closer.
Her jaw tightened. "Intrusive. Persistent. Distracting."
I placed my hand near her wrist, not touching yet. The diagnostic sense flared and nearly knocked me off balance.
The curse had adapted.
Not strengthened.
Shifted.
"Interesting," I murmured.
Her eyes narrowed. "That is the second time you've used that word with me."
"It's not a bad thing," I said quickly. "The suppression layer hasn't reformed. Your body is remembering how to feel."
"That is not reassuring," she said.
I met her gaze steadily. "It is necessary."
She studied my face for a long moment.
"Begin," she said.
I placed my hand against her wrist.
The reaction was immediate and stronger than before.
She inhaled sharply, fingers curling into the fabric of her uniform as warmth spread up her arm, deeper this time, slipping past the surface resistance that had slowed it before.
[Patient Receptiveness: 28%]
[Curse Integrity: 94%]
[Adaptive Layer Detected]
Seraphina's composure cracked.
Not visibly, but I felt it. The subtle hitch in her breathing. The tension coiling in her shoulders.
"This is… more intense," she said quietly.
"Yes," I replied. "Your nervous system isn't fighting the sensation anymore."
"And the curse?"
"Fighting harder," I said honestly. "But less effectively."
I adjusted my touch, increasing contact area slightly, letting warmth flow in a broader pattern. The glow beneath her skin brightened, tracing faint lines up her arm toward her shoulder.
She swallowed.
"I do not like this," she said.
"That's not relevant," I replied gently. "What matters is whether you resist it."
Her eyes flicked to mine. "And if I do?"
"Then the curse wins another day."
Silence stretched.
Then—very deliberately—she relaxed her grip on her uniform.
The change was immediate.
[Patient Receptiveness: 36%]
[Curse Integrity: 91%]
She gasped softly.
Her head tilted back slightly, silver lashes fluttering as sensation surged through pathways long denied stimulation.
I kept my voice steady. "Breathe. Don't lock up."
"I am not—" she stopped, breath hitching. "…trying to."
Her control was slipping—not because she was weak, but because the curse had taken away her tolerance for sensation over the years. Normal feedback now overwhelmed her.
The frost at her fingertips cracked audibly.
She stiffened. "That sound—"
"Another layer breaking," I said. "You're doing well."
Her lips parted slightly as warmth spread further, reaching her shoulder and collarbone.
[Patient Receptiveness: 42%]
Her breath grew uneven.
"This is not supposed to be… affecting me like this," she said, voice tight.
I met her gaze. "You've been numb for most of your life. Of course it does."
She looked away, jaw clenched.
"For the record," she said, "I do not enjoy feeling exposed."
"I know," I replied. "That's why this works."
Her eyes snapped back to mine. "Explain."
"The curse feeds on denial," I said. "On repression. On control. You starve it by letting yourself feel."
She was silent for several seconds.
Then she whispered, barely audible, "I don't remember how."
Something tightened in my chest.
"Then we take it slow," I said. "I guide. You follow."
Her fingers curled into the bed beside her.
"…Alright," she said.
I increased the warmth gradually, careful not to spike it. The glow intensified, spreading across her upper chest now, heat pushing back against the frozen core beneath.
She shuddered.
Not dramatically. Not theatrically.
Just enough to tell me the sensation had crossed another threshold.
[Patient Receptiveness: 51%]
[Curse Integrity: 87%]
Her voice was unsteady when she spoke again.
"This is dangerous," she said. "Not to my health."
I nodded. "To your composure."
"Yes."
I held her gaze. "You don't have to like it. You just have to allow it."
Her breathing slowed—then steadied.
The curse reacted violently, pulling inward, compressing around her heart in response.
I felt it immediately.
"There," I said. "That's the core reacting."
Her hand moved suddenly, gripping my wrist.
The contact was electric.
[Patient Receptiveness: 58%]
Her eyes widened slightly, breath catching.
"I did not intend—"
"It's fine," I said calmly. "Stay with it."
She didn't let go.
The warmth surged in response to the increased connection, flooding into her core like sunlight through ice.
She made a small, involuntary sound.
Then froze.
I noticed the way her pupils dilated.
"This is enough for today," I said firmly, easing the flow.
She inhaled sharply as the warmth receded, her grip loosening reluctantly.
The glow faded to embers beneath her skin—but didn't vanish.
She sat very still for several seconds.
"…It's still there," she said finally.
"Yes," I replied. "Residual sensation."
She stood abruptly, smoothing her uniform with rigid precision.
"That will be… inconvenient," she said.
"Or useful," I countered.
She hesitated at the door.
"Theo Ashford," she said without turning.
"Yes?"
"If this treatment requires that I… lose control…" she paused, choosing her words carefully. "You will warn me."
"I will," I said.
She nodded once and left.
The moment the door closed, Lyra's voice came from the hallway.
"Oh wow."
I groaned. "You were listening."
"Not listening," she corrected. "Sensing. The curse resonance spiked like crazy."
I rubbed my face. "You are a problem."
She grinned. "And you're officially in trouble."
Before I could respond, the system chimed—louder than before.
[Major Treatment Progress Achieved]
[Curse Suppression Reduced]
[New Condition Identified: Emotional Resonance Dependency]
[Warning: Future Sessions Will Require Increased Intensity]
I stared at the notification.
Emotional resonance.
That explained everything.
This wasn't just about pleasure.
It was about connection.
And if the Church observer arrived in three days…
They were going to see far more than they expected.