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“My muscles tensed at an unexpected shiver, an unsuitably cold reaction to the warm late-afternoon. Nonetheless, I felt chilled to the core, as if my heart were receiving a transfusion of ice water for blood. My mind had come to a dead-end contemplating past, present, and future decisions. It seemed that every choice I made hoping to protect my family was tied to a consequence that inevitably injured them. Harm was the result of everything I did—everything I had done—regardless of selfless or heroic intentions. The truth hit hard, suddenly horribly clear, as if stepping up to a full-length mirror. The Tarishe curse had taken on my own likeness. I had become the curse, a scourge to my family. This had always been the witch’s plan.” — Richelle E. Goodrich