The Mark For Curse

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Author’s POV

Morning arrived gently at the Armstrong Villa.

Sunlight filtered through the cracked windows, dust dancing lazily in the golden light. Birds chirped somewhere in the distance — though honestly, even they sounded a little haunted.

Freen stretched dramatically on the bed, her hair a mess, but a goofy smile already tugging at her lips.

She had slept better than ever.

And she knew exactly why.

Without wasting a second, she jumped out of bed, padded barefoot out of the room, and stormed straight to Nam’s door.

BANG BANG BANG!

FREEN (cheerfully yelling): “Wake up! Rise and shine, oh grumpy noodle! Time to cook!”

Inside, Nam groaned like a dying walrus.

NAM (half-asleep): “Why are you like this…?”

FREEN (dramatic): “Because I’m in love.”

NAM (muffled): “I liked you better when you were just lazy and sarcastic…”

Freen pushed open the door and yanked the blanket off her.

FREEN: “Chop chop! Go make breakfast.”

Nam sat up, her hair in all directions, eyes squinting.

NAM: “Why do I have to cook? You’ve been cooking every day since we came here! The ghosts even like your food!”

Freen folded her arms, raising a brow.

FREEN (smirking): “Exactly. I cook for my Becky. The rest—you are going to make.”

Nam blinked.

NAM: “…Excuse me?”

FREEN (casually, walking away): “If you want eggs, toast, or whatever bland nonsense you like — you make it. I’m only putting effort into food that goes to the love of my afterlife.”

NAM (grumbling): “Oh my God, I hate you. You’re becoming insufferable.”

FREEN (from down the hallway): “Still not worse than your coffee!”

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Upstairs

Becky had been watching through the crack in her door with Irin—both invisible, both amused.

IRIN (giggling): “She really said ‘only my Becky,’ huh?”

Becky’s cheeks flushed slightly.

BECKY (muttering): “She’s so annoying…”

IRIN: “You smiled again.”

BECKY: “Shut up.”

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Downstairs in the kitchen, Nam banged pots around like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Freen sat calmly at the table, resting her cheek in her hand, humming to herself and glancing occasionally at the empty seat beside her.

She didn’t call out for Becky.

Not yet.

She just waited, knowing she was probably being watched.

After all… if love can’t make a ghost hungry, what can?

Freen leaned lazily against the counter, sipping from her chipped tea mug and watching Nam burn toast like it was a personal hobby.