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“Explain.”

I took a breath, the words tumbling out. “A year ago, you offered me help. I treated you like nothing. I was three nights turned, grieving, terrified, drowning in a life I didn’t choose. I lashed out because I was scared, and you were the closest target. That was wrong. Cruel. Unforgivable.”

I stepped closer, hands open, palms up. “I was wrong to insult you. I was frightened, but fear doesn’t make cruelty acceptable. I owe you an apology for that day, and I mean it.” I held her gaze. “But a year of humiliation wasn’t justice. It was vengeance. Carolina and I weakened the curse because we love each other, not to defy you. And you didn’t merely restore it. You know that. You drove it back into me harder. Not because I disrespected you again, but because you could. Because your pride couldn’t tolerate being undone.”

“Careful,” Jacqueline warned.

“I’m not being careful,” I said, my voice steady despite the fear. “I’m being honest. During the ritual, I was free. And you couldn’t let me have that. You couldn’t let your daughter have that. Because if love can break your curse, then your power isn’t absolute. And that terrifies you.”

The silence stretched between us, heavy and charged.

“You think you understand me?” she asked softly.

“I think you’re lonely,” I said, the words surprising us both. “I think you’ve spent centuries being powerful and feared, and you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be loved. To be chosen. To have someone look at you like you matter more than your magic.”

Jacqueline went very still.

“Carolina looks at me that way,” I continued. “She sees me. Not the curse. Not the clumsiness. Just me. And I see her too. The real her. Not the perfect heir. Just Carolina.”

I dropped to my knees. Raw. Desperate. Real.

“Please,” I whispered. “High Priestess. I’m begging you. Not for me. For her. Let her go with your blessing. Or at least without your curse. Don’t make her choose between loving me and being whole.”

Jacqueline stared down at me, her face unreadable. The fire crackled behind her.

“You wounded my curse,” she said finally, her voice strange. “You and my daughter. A true-mate bond. Ancient magic.” She laughed, hollow. “Do you know how long it’s been since someone came that close to breaking one of my curses?”

I shook my head.

“Never,” she said. “No one has ever wounded my magic. Not a witch. Not a vampire. Not anyone.” She turned away, her movements slower now. “I told myself it was a fluke. That you’d gotten lucky. That it wouldn’t happen again.”

“It wasn’t luck,” I said quietly. “It was love.”

“Sentimental nonsense.” But her voice lacked its usual edge.

“Maybe.” I stayed on my knees. “But it’s real. And it’s stronger than your curse. Stronger than your pride. Stronger than your fear.”

She sat down, her hands clasped, and she looked tired. Old. Human.

“Get up,” she said, not unkindly.

I stood slowly, my legs aching.

“The curse stays,” she said, and my heart sank. “I will not be defied.”

“I understand.”

“But...” She hesitated, something shifting. “I will consider... alternatives. A lesser curse. One that allows you to function. To walk without pain.”

“Why?” I asked, not daring to believe her.

“Because my daughter loves you,” she said, rough and reluctant. “And because... perhaps I have been... excessive. Perhaps the punishment has exceeded the crime.”

It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t forgiveness. It wasn’t freedom.

But it was a crack in the wall.

“I’ll take it,” I said.