The Witch’s Curse

The wind howled over the cliffs, carrying the scent of smoke and blood.

She stood at the edge, her cloak whipping behind her, her breaths shallow and uneven. Below, the village lay in ruin, its once-thriving streets now silent and dead.

And in the center of it all—

Him.

Her grip tightened as she forced herself to look.

Gufran.

Even from this distance, she could see what he had become.

His movements were wrong—jolted, unnatural. His stance, too rigid yet somehow powerful, as if his body had been forced into something it was never meant to be. His head tilted slightly, as though listening to something only he could hear.

The man she loved was gone.

And in his place stood a mindless undead-zombie.

---

The memories burned in her mind, sharper than any blade.

She had been there when it happened. When the village turned against them.

They had come for her first.

Witches were never given trials. There were no questions, no hesitation. Just torches and ropes. Just fire and fear.

She had been dragged through the streets, her wrists bound, her skin scraped raw against the stone. They had beaten her, spit on her, cursed her name.

A monster, they called her. A demon.

She had fought back.

The magic had surged through her veins, desperate to protect her. The fire had bent away from her skin. The ropes had burned to ash.

But she was too weak.

Outnumbered. Alone.

And then… he came.

Gufran.

She begged him to run. Screamed at him, told her to leave her behind.

He had refused and screamed.

"You have to live, run, run, run!"

He fought for her, stood before them like a shield, taking blow after blow meant for her.

And it was then, in that moment, that she had cursed him.

Not with a spell. Not with intention.

But with love.

With desperation.

She had wished—prayed—that he would survive. That no matter what happened, he would not fall. That he would live. That he would never leave her.

And the universe had listened.

Not kindly.

Not mercifully.

It had twisted her wish into somewhat of a cruel joke.

---

The moment he fell to the ground, unable to stop them anymore, the villagers turned on her again.

"Burn the witch!" someone shouted.

They grabbed her by the arms, pulling her toward the center of the square. Someone struck her across the face. Another man lifted a blade, ready to carve out the evil inside her.

And then—

Chaos.

A scream tore through the night—not from her, not from the villagers. From the walls.

A sound so raw, so horrid, it made her blood turn to ice.

The defensive wall collapsed.

Zombies flooded into the village, pouring through the broken barricades like a wave of death.

It happened so fast.

One moment, she had been at the mercy of the mob.

The next—

People were running.

The first undead crashed into the square, tearing into flesh, ripping apart the very people who had demanded her blood just moments ago.

A man who had held a torch to burn her alive was now burning himself, his throat torn open as fire consumed his flesh.

The priest who had cursed her name had no name anymore. Only a gaping hole where his face had been.

The village had turned from a place of judgment into a slaughterhouse.

And in the middle of it all, Gufran.

Still alive.

Still standing.

But no longer himself.

For a moment, she thought—hoped—that the zombies would ignore him.

But then she saw the wound.

The deep, festering bite in his flesh.

And the light in his eyes, Eerie.

Something in her shattered.

She had lost him.

The zombies had taken him.

The world blurred around her, the screams distant, her body moving without thought.

Run.

Run.

RUN.

---

The wind howled through the ruins, whispering through the abandoned homes.

She pulled her cloak tighter around herself, but it did nothing to stop the creeping chill inside her bones.

She had fled into the night, her breath ragged, her hands shaking.

She did not know how long she had run.

But when she finally stopped—

When she finally turned back to see what had become of him—

It was too late.

The battle was over.

The village was gone.

And he…

He was still standing.

A gust of wind sent dust swirling around her, but she did not move.

She could not.

Because she had promised.

If things went wrong, she would not stay.

She had sworn to keep running, no matter what.

And so, she turned and ran.

Ran as she had promised.

Ran as she had sworn she would, if the worst happened.

And as the village disappeared behind her, swallowed by the mist, she told herself.

That Gufran was dead and what remained was a mindless undead-zombie

And that he would never come back.