Love is like a flower It grows until it doesn’t But flowers can die A little acid quite does it

Love is like a stove It cooks something delicious But don’t come close You may get cooked with it

Love is like a virus It can be so contagious But a virus can kill If you don’t try to tame it

Love is like magic A spell cast your way But magic comes with a price Are you willing to pay?

Magic, Dad? I’m starting to wonder if the “magic” you left out here for me is all just my imagination. After all, no one else has noticed the amazing birds that I keep seeing and hearing. Maybe they’re just birds.

I keep trying to get Charlie to see the funny little birds. That would prove that I’m not imagining them. I would love to see Charlie’s reaction to seeing a bird dressed up as a cheerleader or drill sergeant. I know you know, but she makes the funniest face when she’s amazed. Her eyes go crossed and her mouth opens a little. Classic!

Can you put the perfect bird in our path, Dad? I want to share them with Charlie

I stare at the beautiful man cloaked in the silver moonlight smiling while waiting for me to speak. "Are you the man that answers wishes?" I ask hesitantly, fidgeting with my fingers. The man smiles and responds in a smooth, luring voice, "I do something quite like that. What do you wish for, Aurelia?" I take a deep breath and repeat the words I've practiced many times over. "I wish to be strong and useful; to live a life of fullness and not dullness. I am a plain girl; I wish not to be." The man nodded his head as if he understood my wish. "Magic," he began, "comes with a price, are you willing to pay?" Without question or even time to ponder, I answer with complete confidence, "Yes." The man moves his hands in a dance, glimmering magic swirls from his fingertips. "Aurelia Dertha," He speaks with sternness and power, "I grant that you will no longer be a plain girl, but a girl of extravagance and purpose!" With one full flush of his power, the glimmering glow of magic settles within me, but I do not feel any different. I look in the mirror to see any physical changes, but I still look the same. "I am not changed," I utter with disappointment. The man walks towards me with a small frown. "You are already extravagant, and you already have purpose, Aurelia. You do not need magic." "Then what did you do?" The man smiles. "Look in the mirror once more. What do you see?" I do as he says. My eyes connect with my image in the mirror. I recognize my brunette hair, brown eyes, and freckled skin. But looking closer, I see something else. I see a young woman who has a whole life before her. She has a purpose; one that she is willing to live out. "I have purpose," I exclaim, smiling at my image. "Magic," the man says, "is not always sparkles and color; sometimes it is just words of encouragement."

MAGIC comes with a price. Are you willing to pay? The fee of a soul but a soul isn’t owned nor blood or bone or fleshly home pay with your fate, mortals the staff becomes serpent then Aaron’s bloom pay your price to the prince cast tomorrow to pharaoh to Horus and Ra wade to the Nile see it red again write your fury on the reeds your piece on papyrus on sandstone sphinx pry it from the hands of —— build you a pyramid behind your skull lavish it with gold have your power your incantations and hallowed ashes seize the elements and bow and be seized

Magic comes with a price are you willing to play? My art long dormant, I began to create one day And long into the night My lines were fluid my colors sublime. Shapes and forms filled the page and trailed to the edge of the handmade paper The texture it provided enchanting the piece I was high and solitary and felt like I were home again The light on my studio steady and bright Moonbeams through my windows highlighted the copper that shown through the French doors out to the porch ill leave the light on for you

“Magic has a price, are you willing to pay it? Luca?”

That is what his great-grandmother had said when he had showed an interest in magic.

Oh how luca loved his ‘price’…

_ _Luca, a man with black ebony hair and sapphire like eyes, came from a family of mages. Spellcasters. Healers. Poisoners. Herbalists, and a few necromaners. No one in the Mori family ever had a patron or a deity. Making Luca the first warlock in memento city.

To Luca, the deal seemed beneficial. Selling your soul via a marriage contract? Killing two birds with one stone.

There were rules however, made by the creature.

_Ruled one: the marriage contract would not be fulfilled until Luca was of age. _

Rule two: Luca would not see this beings face until he was freed from his prison and when the contract was fulfilled.

Rule three: no suitors. As the creature would be watching over Luca, so no harm comes to him.

Three rules. Three simple easy rules. ‘Seems easy enough’ thought the six year old Luca.

Fourteen years later….

Luca carefully stepped down onto the old mossy stone stairs. His hands gracing the dirt walls of the cave as he ventured further. It had rained the previous week, the stairs slick and wet and the walls muddy. Luca could only hiss as he dug his pale boney fingers into the dirt as he slipped, catching himself before he fell. The long skirts of his black robes soaked with dirt, water and bits of moss.

“Blasted creature…” he uttered, his posh sophisticated thick with annoyance “Didn’t bloody warn me how much trouble this be..”

He took a deep heavy breath through his nose, ‘this is for the contract..’ he began his decent once more, his fingers now darkened with dirt.

He ventured down, stone step after stone step, huffing in annoyance after every near slip, the dirt walls slowly turning into stone. He came across a large opening in the single passage. The cavern was large, full of lush thriving greenery. Water droplets falling to the stone ground creating an echo.

Sat in the cavern stood a small mausoleum. Vines from the lush greenery wrapping around the stone like fingers wrapping around a neck. Luca’s feet took him forward without much of a fight. His black flats wet, crushing any plants in his way. Through the gates was a cracked mossy tomb, showing its age. The gate opens with a rusty loud creak.

Luca felt lighters when he touched the tomb. Like a weight taken off his shoulders.

The room grew cold, despite the warm day. Goosebumps formed on Lucas skin as a voice filled his head..

“Hello darling”

Pink eyes bore into his blue ones. He was indescribable. The creatures form twitched and slithered as it spoke once again.

_ “How you’ve grown. I remember you could barely reach my knee when we first met..” _it chartled. “You remember our deal, don’t you?”

Luca could only nod, he was left speechless. His tounge felt swollen in his mouth.

“The marriage contract…” Luca mumbled, finally finding his voice 

_“Yes, what a good memory you have.” It chuckled “you must give me at least one heir now that you are of age. I promissse to treat you well, little husband.” _

Luca said nothing, silent as a mouse.

_“Call me Markus.” _

“_…_Luca”

_“Well Luca, let’s head home to get this deal underway” _it responded, giving a sharp toothed grin. ———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

With that dear readers, is how the infamous Markus and Luca Mori met and married.

Ancient magic has gifted a certain few A magic thay now belongs to you

With the flame we make The ground, we shall shake

But it still holds a great vice Magic comes with a great price

Breaks your life everyday Are you still willing to pay?

“Magic comes with a price, are you willing to pay?” The impossibly deep voice kept rumbling through Elizabeth’s head as she splashed through the damp cobblestone alley. Darting furtive glances around her, she hugged her shawl tighter. It seemed as though every shaded corner or dark alcove held those eyes. Eyes like smoldering coals. That’s all she had seen that night. Two slanted lines seemingly hovering in midair, surrounded by inky blackness. A voice boomed so loud Elizabeth feared that her room shook, yet somehow did not rouse anyone in the house. “Magic comes with a price.” Despite its volume and deep pitch, the voice was a sonorous purr. “Are you willing to pay?” “Yes.” Her voice was barely a whisper, so much so she wasn’t even sure she had made a sound. Without another word her meager lump of black wax snuffed out, as though by a dark wind, though Elizabeth felt no draft in her room. Even with the existence of the stubby candle she had used, Elizabeth felt as though that night had been a dream. Finally, she came to the door to her cottage. Even before she pushed the door open, she heard the quiet groaning of Charlotte inside. Putting on a brave face, Elizabeth entered the home to find her sister prostrate in front of the pile of ashes one could hardly call a fire. Her ragged dress hardly covered her skinny arms and she couldn’t be very comfortable on the thin mat separating her from the dirt floor. “I’m back, Lottie,” Elizabeth announced with false cheer. “I tried to make haste. Here, sit up, sit up.” Her younger sister required significant help leaning forward even onto her elbows. Elizabeth’s hand grazed her sister’s uncovered arm and it was an effort not to reel back at the warmth emanating from her. Stroking Charlotte’s brittle, pale hair, Elizabeth eased her sister into her arms. “Did you get the salve?” Charlotte’s voice had always been diminutive but it was hardly a rasp now. “I did, dear Lottie.” “Please, use it now. I suffer so.” “Be still, sister.” Elizabeth placed the small jar she had traded her last ivory button for on the dusty floor, unscrewing its top. Dipping a finger into the viscous fluid, Elizabeth spread the tincture over a sore in Charlotte’s armpit. Her sister whimpered pitifully but Elizabeth persisted. It took almost the entire bottle to cover all of the hurts in various stages of deterioration. The worst were located in the creases of Charlotte’s hips; angry and red with black edges and a glossy sheen from pus. Most others appeared as raised ulcerations, barely showing any break down of the overlying skin, though the more severe ones had a dusky hue to them. Elizabeth was thorough in her work, slathering a healthy amount, taking care not to waste however, over each and every sore. “I’ll make us some tea,” Elizabeth said as she eased Charlotte back onto her mat. “Thank you.” Though it was certainly wishful thinking, Elizabeth thought her voice already sounded stronger. As the water boiled, Elizabeth had the sudden inspiration to give Charlotte a small treat. Traipsing out to their paltry garden, she hunted down the drooping mint plant and tore a sprig off. Smelling the fresh scent with a smile, she almost skipped back inside and tucked the herb into Charlotte’s cup before pouring the hot water over the tea leaves. “Where is yours?” Charlotte asked when Elizabeth returned. “We only had enough for one, don’t worry about me. Look!” She turned the steaming cup to present the mint leaf. Odd, she didn’t think the water was so hot to shrivel it so. It now hung limp over the lip of the mug, but Charlotte’s ghastly visage seemed to perk up anyway. Elizabeth guided the cup to her sister’s thin lips and slowly tipped it back after blowing on it. “How is mother today?” Elizabeth asked. “Same as yesterday,” Charlotte replied, taking another sip. “Same as the day before. Same as always. Ever since James…” “Perhaps when you get better, she will too,” Elizabeth said with a smile, pinching the small patch of unblemished skin on Charlotte’s cheek. “I’ll go and check on her and let her know how you are.” Before Charlotte could protest, Elizabeth swept upstairs, smoothing her dress as she went. Knocking softly, Elizabeth heard a soft humming stop inside the room. “James, is that you?” If Charlotte’s voice sounded like a rasp, her mother’s voice sounded like wind in leaves. “No, mother,” Elizabeth said, pushing the door open, “it’s Elizabeth.” “Lizzie.” Even after all this time, her mother’s gaunt face shocked her. A shock of thin, white hair hung like so many strings around the previously beautiful woman’s face. “How are you feeling today, mother?” Elizabeth had stopped calling her “Mama” after she retreated into her room after the loss of James. It was as if she had forgotten about her remaining children after that. Her mother gave a noncommital grunt and her glassy eyes strayed lazily from Elizabeth back to the wall. Her humming resumed as she sat stock still. Elizabeth sighed but crossed the room to stand behind her seated mother. Scooping up the ratty horsehair brush, Elizabeth began stoking her hair. Her mother’s hummed tune did not change the entire one hundred brushes. Bending over to kiss her mother on top of the head, Elizabeth felt a single tear leak down her cheek. “I still love you, mother,” she whispered before standing and walking away. Pausing at the door, Elizabeth looked back but thankfully did not allow her hope to be raised. Her mother sat just as still as she had been before, continuously humming that inane melody. Without a sound, Elizabeth closed the door behind her and set to work with the rest of her chores for the day.

Hands shook Elizabeth awake, but she did not jolt at the sudden movement. It was as if she knew the hands, almost as well as her own. “Lizzie!” A sweet voice called, seemingly echoing in her head. “Lizzie, wake up! The most amazing thing has happened! Lizzie!” Her eyes fluttered open to see an impossible sight. Charlotte, her pale and pristine face just as it had been before the plague, stood over Elizabeth, her hands gripping her shoulders and shaking her with excitement. “Lottie?” Elizabeth said groggily. Surely this had to be a dream. Not even those who survived the sickness were left unblemished. “Yes, dear Lizzie!” Charlotte exclaimed with a squeal of delight. “And it’s not just me. Come, come to the kitchen!” Feeling in a daze, Elizabeth followed Charlotte down into their kitchen, rubbing her eyes and trying to snap herself out of the dream this must be. It wasn’t until they stood in the kitchen that Elizabeth heard the clatter of spoon on kettle and smelled the familiar aroma of their mother’s special porridge. Her eyes grew to saucers as she looked up yet another incredulous sight. Their mother, as hale and pretty as ever, stirred a pot over the fire, her arms strung with healthy muscle. Elizabeth could not stifle a gasp, nor could she stop herself from rubbing her eyes once more. “Good morning, my sweets!” Their mother said with a grin, showing not the toothless mouth that Elizabeth had given up trying to brush. “How are you, Mama?” Charlotte cooed. “I feel oh so delightful.” “Delightful is the perfect word, my dear Lottie!” Elizabeth stumbled over to the nearest chair, collapsing into it with a grunt. “Lizzie, would you mind fetching some mint for the tea?” her mother asked in a tinkling voice. Elizabeth made her way out to their garden and found something that made her stomach drop. Laying limply into the sodden soil, the remains of their previously healthy mint plant almost matched the brown of the ground. Looking around at their basil and tomato plants, Elizabeth found them both the picture of herbal health. “Did you get it?” Her mother was now serving helpings of the steaming porridge with a smile. “No, something happened to the mint plant,” Elizabeth replied with a hollow voice. “Perhaps it got too much rain last night,” Charlotte offered. “Perhaps.” Elizabeth sat down, though her appetite had lessened. “Do you… do you remember anything from yesterday, mother?” “Mother? Does not that seem a bit formal? But yes, of course. I was just feeling under the weather.” “I feel so much better today, it’s like magic!” Charlotte interjected, shoveling the food into her mouth. “Slow down, Lottie,” her mother chuckled but Elizabeth hardly heard her. Like magic… Surely it must be coincidence. “Well, eat up, dear!” “Oh, yes…” Elizabeth said absently, taking a small bite. It smelled just like she remembered, but it tasted like ash in her mouth.

Elizabeth set off to the village, the words still rolling around in her mind. “Magic comes with a price, are you willing to pay?” Over and over, she didn’t notice the little boy before they collided. “I’m so sorry, mum!” the urchin exclaimed. “Please, do forgive me!” “It was my fault!” Elizabeth replied, her hands and feet numb with the shock. The grimy-faced child rubbed his red nose with a guilty look. “Here, go get something to eat.” Elizabeth pressed a farthing into the boy’s tiny hand with a smile. Despite the mud caking his palm, his skin was quite warm. “Thank you, mum!” The urchin tipped his shabby flat cap and gave her a mischievous grin. Elizabeth watched the child duck and weave his way through the crowd, making sure his trajectory led to a nearby butcher for some food. Nodding approvingly, Elizabeth set back to her errand. She arrived at the pharmacy she had first bought the salve from the day before, finding it nearly empty except for the chemist. Even after a brief conversation, during which he offered her a refill — which Elizabeth refused — he wouldn’t claim it a miracle cure. Concern mounting, Elizabeth heard those rumbling words over and over again as she hurried back up the street. Then she heard the shriek of horror. A rotund man wearing a blood-stained apron sprinted out of a building as a crowd formed in front of the edifice. “Wasn’t me fault!” the man shouted as he pushed through the gathering people. “An accident, I tell ya! An accident!” Elizabeth caught a glimpse between shoulders and her blood ran cold. A small, grimy hand extended from underneath a large shelf, flat on the ground.

Not caring that the sun was still rising and ignoring the cries from her sister and mother, Elizabeth sprinted to her room, closed the door and drew her curtains tight. Soon, the only light in her room was the low flicker of her black wax candle. “What was the price?” Elizabeth wailed, begging for those sinister eyes to reappear. “What is going to happen?” She had to clear her tearing eyes to be sure she saw what she thought she saw. Just like before, two red slits glowered from the darkness, looking into her very soul. “I don’t want the magic anymore!” Elizabeth sobbed. “Take it away.” The eyes remained impassive. “Can’t you hear me? Take it away!” With a deep rumbling laugh, the candle burst into flame before vanishing, plunging the room back into darkness. In a panic, Elizabeth flung her door open and screamed at what awaited her. Her mother, even more gaunt and ghastly than ever sat, stroking the hair of Charlotte. They sat before a pile of ashes, her mother humming that same tune as before. Elizabeth ran past them and into the street. The shadows flanking the cobblestones seemed to close in on her as she fled, just following where her feet led. It wasn’t until she arrived that Elizabeth realized she was back in the butcher’s shop. Humming quietly to herself, she approached the rack of razor-sharp knives. “I won’t hurt anyone without my hands,” she whispered.

Surya stared at the bleeding man at her feet. She was tired of this; men trying to attack her. They always ended up dead. They always ended up in trouble. They needed to learn.

She walked away as fast as she could. She didn’t want to get caught up in this again. She knew that the police would be on her within the minute they saw this. They always showed up at her house.

Surya made her way to her neighbor’s house. Ms. Sienna Rosebaum. She always knew how to help.

She knocked on the door. Ms. Sienna Rosebaum answered immediately. She smiled. “Magic come with a price. Are you willing to pay?” She asked with a smirk on her face.

Tinker belle knew and loved Peter the whole time. But Peter chose Wendy.

Cinderella got a brand new dress and Prince. But she lost everything that was left of her family.

Repunzal found love. But he cut off her favorite part of herself.

Alladin got magic wishes. But his life changed completely.

Magic comes with a price.

Are you willing to pay?