When you are lost to yourself and everyone you come to me. Fortune teller and priest might recommend you my place. I'm a curse undoer, seventh and last generation of a family of removers. I was born and raised in a small village where we lived mostly by farming and renting our fields. There, years could pass without seeing anyone wishing to get a curse lifted so we all worked on our own projects. The way to remove curse differ from person to person, my dad use gemstones found in the mountain, my sister carve wood, my mom paint while I talk. I small talk about meaningless and important matter. It's not theatre, nor rhetoric, I talk and I listen.
It's been two years since I left my parents and found a place somewhere in the city. One day a cursed person made me understand I had to broaden my horizons. I now exerce in the back of an esoteric library. Even though I don't believe in ghost, astrology or fortune telling, I still happily spend my days there. The owner is nice, I can kill time in one of her private room for free and I can freely read the books. Most of them are interesting and imagination racing but none really passionate me. All the books about curse lifting are wrong too, but they are ok read.
Today I walk in the library again with my quiet step. It's quite early in the morning because this library never close. So people come and sleep here, I always see this bearded man on one of the couch. I could save on the rent and live here if there was a bath. I had so much trouble finding a cheap appartment because I can't take a shower, I need to lay myself into water.
Knock knock
-Yes.
Interrupting my thoughts someone enter with a muzzled, constrained, person. The bounded one is wearing all white and a cloth of the same color forbid them to speak. The man in charge of the bounded is intimidating and his gesture is curt. From time to time he rough-handle what seems to be his prisoner when he moves too much to his liking. Said prisoner appears to be a young man in his twenties at most. Blindfolded as well as gaged I can't really make anything from his facial expression but he has a sweet face. Not the kind I think of, when I imagine a tough prisoner.
The older man is what I thought when I think of a witch smeller though. Wearing the insignia of his status, he is a big muscled and wary looking agent of the untold law. It isn't my first time meeting a smeller but never has it been under those circumstances.
-Hello, what can I do for you, sir ?
-It's not for me. This guy's a... wait, are you really the undoer ? I might have made a mistake with a door.
-I am, yes. Don't worry.
Somehow, people don't believe by my appearance that I'm an undoer. Mostly the one who already met an undoer before.
-Alright. This chap here is a warlock. As in, not the good kind of doer, he cursed to death many many people in the gruesomest way possible every time. That's why I'm here to ask if you could remove his gift in any way ?
-I could... only it would take a lot of ressources I don't have. What is your budget ? Do you know his true name ?
-Finite, unfortunately. Also, his true name is lost.
-Then there is another solution which will takes much more time but I don't know if you...
-I have all the time needed. This is important, not urgent.
Is it worth it ? ask my eyes. Somehow the man seems to understand that. He looks at the boy, only a bag of angular stones and pale skin. Through all the time spent here his face remained peaceful and vulnerable.
-It may not seems like it but this doer have killed everyone in his entire family and all his old friends. Just so he wouldn't possibly be smelled. Even though he was caught, no one would be able to tell his true name anymore. I can't believe believe I'll see a doer this powerful one day. Please, look at his eyes.
Two marbles stones shines as the boy blindness his unfold, his eyes stab my office seeking to gorge themselves with every colors, textures, informations they can. Then, they examine me and smile. You learn to recognize the stare of a doer, someone who only have to wish to be fulfilled. It's painful. It's chilling. Nothing vulnerable remains on his face, only a bright coldness.
-Undoer, do you think you can take care of him ?
-Blindfold him again please.
-Of course. The only way to be safe from a doer is to not let be known from them. He is a powerful one, I told you. He is almost complete. Scary, right ?
-I need to think for a minute.
How many years could it takes ? Is this amount of money worth it at all ? Am I competent enough ? This is all the question one need to ask themselves before accepting an undoing. The work needed to help this person wouldn't exactly be an undoing, though. It would take a lot of work, a lot of the free time I was reserving for my role-playing campaign with my friends.
-He's a talker ?
-Yes, that's the way he proceed to kill people and the only undoer I know who could protect themselves against a talker is you. I haven't managed to find another one like you for now that's why I'm a bit desperate. You don't have to undo his gift but at least I would appreciate if you could help us get this boy under control.
I don't want to but...
-I'll do it. Please, transfer his custody to me as soon as possible. He will live with me from now on.
After that we considered the payment for a bit. What was decided was the usual and bonus for letting him stay at my appartment and taking care of his daily needs. Since the boy doesn't have any belongings left, he will be able to move in my appartment tomorrow exactly. It's important that he would never leave sight, else I'd have to blind and mute him and I don't want to do that.
For a long time, I thought I could make it right. Help them, treat them better. The ones called evil doers, warlocks, when captured are left to spend their days in a blind cell, unable to see or feel. Because they die with their dark worlds we believe it is justice to inflict it to them. No pain ever disappear this way. That's what undoers shoud all know.
In the past, many, many, many, many were killed both warlock and curse lifters, everytime for the same reasons. Bad reasons.
It's april, the morning is cold. I prepared my appartment all night. My hands hurt, my feet too, my blood is freezing and the tip of my fingers is white. They're here. The pale man from yesterday is getting out of a car, not binded anymore. I'm taking responsability for him so everything he does I will undo if necessary. My freedom is the price for his relative liberty, that way he can live as a normal person as long as I'm willing to undo his bad deeds.
-Hello and welcome to your new home.
-Good morning, sir. I hope we'll get along well.
Chills run through my back? His stares goes through everything I hold and wear, my homewear (which is basically what I wear everywhere and everyday), my shape, my story and then what I'm thinking as he catch me staring back. The corner of his mouth goes up, his eyes shines. It makes me think about how beautiful he would be if he could show his true smile.
Now the pearls unbrighten and the washed up white wood comes back, perhaps once an earthy brown they lost colors has he drowned and drifted in his own storms. Somehow he's not completely lost yet, because those kind of fake smile just look to me like call for help.