The Colours of Me

the curse

Larisa slipped quietly through the door into a gloomy, smallish bedroom with wooden floorboards and a high ceiling. It smelt like Murdoch — old and musty. Larisa shivered, her breath coming out in tiny white clouds.

Hugging her chest tight, she looked around. Daylight struggled through a single bare window. Below the window stood a wooden desk cluttered with books and papers and empty whisky bottles.

An open fireplace sat against one wall, and along the thick wooden mantelpiece were photographs of families, and men dressed in army uniforms. They stared at Larisa with their empty eyes and stern faces.

Her heart thumped. It has to be here!

Kneeling beside the bed, she reached into the darkness and felt something cold and hard — a suitcase! She gripped the handle and dragged it out. Leather straps held the case shut. Larisa fumbled with the buckles. Then slowly, she lifted the lid.

Inside were bundles of yellowed letters bound together by faded ribbon. Larisa's stomach twisted in knots. The name on the envelopes was Lady Larisa Kirby. Her Great Grandmother.

A black cloak made from silk lay beside the letters. Larisa drew it from the suitcase. Suddenly, her breath caught in her throat. There it was!
The dagger!

The silver sheath and handle were encrusted with rubies. Trembling, Larisa picked it up. She pulled the dagger from its sheath, the curved blade glinting in the dim light. With despair in her soul, she held it to her breast. She knew that her family's curse would never be broken until she killed him.

Killed the man she so desperately loved.