After we had sex in the forest, our relationship stopped being just a long-standing friendship, and our etings beca marked by our burning passion—each encounter defined by a different position.
Naturally, I had no intention of telling my father about my relationship with Emilia—not because I was ashad to introduce her to him. Quite the opposite.
My family wasn’t well regarded because of my father. Back when his body was healthier, he would spend his ti away from his research drinking and causing trouble at the bar. Now that his body could no longer handle alcohol, he spent his days at ho, bitter and resentful. My mother couldn’t stand his behavior, so she ran away, leaving alone with him.
I never wanted to drag Emilia into my family’s problems, nor did I intend to expose the woman I loved to my only relative—but that wouldn’t be an issue. I just needed to wait a little longer.
David Forster wouldn’t live much longer. With each passing day, the dicine I produced beca less effective, and my father was already at death’s door.
Knowing he was going to die, he called over—not to say goodbye, but to ask about my results.
"Edward, do you understand the seriousness of our research?" he asked.
As long as I can rember, my father had a large belly—not because of food, but because of alcohol. Ever since he stopped leaving the house, not a single bottle had entered it, and even so, his face still looked like that of soone who had just downed an entire bottle.
I was never foolish enough to bring even a single drop of alcohol into the house, not even when I was younger and he asked to—I refused. Fortunately, he never beat ; he wasn’t the type to raise his hand, but everything that ca out of his mouth was ant to belittle those around him, all while ignoring the fact that he had thrown his own life into the gutter.
"Of course, Father."
"And in the last few months, what progress have you made?"
I didn’t answer. What progress could possibly be made? That old man was senile enough to believe that a few formulas could sohow create the elixir of eternal life out of nothing.
"Useless son! What is wrong with you?! I raised you, clothed you, fed you, and you couldn’t even make the slightest progress. You disgrace our family na."
I was already used to that kind of treatnt, so his insults no longer hurt . But he didn’t stop there that night. His face looked almost ghostly.
"Listen well. The future of the Forster family—our revenge against those who humiliated us—will rest on your shoulders until the day you die! If you do not carry on our legacy and pass it on, everything you love will be cursed! Mark my words!"
I said goodbye to him that night. When I went to see him again the next morning, death had already taken him.
I don’t consider myself a good person for thinking this, but when he died, I felt as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I swore to myself that the Forster family’s curse would end with , bringing the research to a definitive end. I wouldn’t even consider passing it on to my descendants. That would be the end of the nightmare that had cost my family so much.
But even with that resolve, I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of the research manuscripts I had produced. Whenever I thought about it, I would rember my father’s final words and feel a tightness in my chest. So I kept the docunts, intending to let them gather dust.
So ti after my father’s death, I made my relationship with Emilia official and brought her to live with . After several nights together, she finally told the best words I had ever heard in my life.
"I’m pregnant!" she said with a bright smile.
I couldn’t have been happier. The woman I loved was going to give birth to my child. I was about to have a new family—one free from the madness of my old one. I would give my child the ho I had never had. That’s what I believed.
Our child was born without complications, healthy and strong. But Emilia seed weaker after the birth. When the boy turned two, her condition truly began to worsen.
"My dear, I’m fine. I just felt a little weak, that’s all," Emilia said from her bed.
"This is the third ti this month you’ve fainted like that. Please, get more rest."
"And who will take care of the house? Of little Richard..."
"I’ll take care of everything. Just focus on getting better," I insisted.
Emilia hesitated for a mont, then gave a fragile smile.
"Alright... just don’t overwork yourself, okay?"
How could I possibly grant that request? With each passing day, Emilia seed weaker, her health so fragile that being bedridden beca part of her daily life.
I had tried everything—every kind of potion—and nothing, absolutely nothing, could restore her health. One night in my laboratory, overwheld by frustration at my wife’s worsening condition, I swept all my equipnt off the table.
"What the hell! I can’t do it—I just can’t!" I shouted.
Every day, every single day, I searched for a cure for Emilia’s condition, but nothing I tried had any effect. If I had more money, I would have called for the best priest in the capital, but with what I earned from selling potions, the best I could do was try to save her myself.
I wasn’t a bad alchemist. I had the knowledge needed to cure the sick. If it were a simple illness, I should have been able to heal her. "So why...?"
That’s when it hit —my father’s last words.
"Everything you love will be cursed!" I repeated, swallowing hard. "It can’t be..."
I found the manuscripts—my work on creating the philosopher’s stone. I hadn’t written a single new formula in those pages since the day my father died nearly three years ago.
"No... it can’t be. My father didn’t have the power to curse anyone. But then why...?"
I couldn’t stop thinking about that possibility. If my father had truly cursed , my family would be at risk—not just Emilia, but little Richard as well.
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