La Maldicion Del Amor Verdadero -

And he screamed.

His name was Sebastián. He had died in 1689, a century before my birth. I found his portrait in a hidden crypt beneath the chapel: a young man with eyes the color of stormy mercury and a mouth that seemed to whisper secrets even in oil paint. On the frame, an inscription was carved in Latin: "Qui amat, peribit." He who loves, perishes. La Maldicion Del Amor Verdadero

The ritual was simple, as the most terrible things often are. A lock of my hair. A drop of my blood. A kiss pressed to the cold lips of the portrait at the thirteenth hour of the night. I whispered his name three times, and the air grew thick as honey left to rot. And he screamed

When I opened my eyes, he was standing before me. I found his portrait in a hidden crypt