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Alice stirred, her tiny hands tightening around Ivy's arm, and Ivy felt a pang of guilt. What kind of future had she signed away for her daughter? Would she ever be free to watch Alice grow up, to see her go to school, get married, or have her own children? The thought was too much to bear, and hot tears slid down her cheeks, soaking into the pillow beneath her.

The days ticked by in a blur of normalcy and fear. She went about her life, helping Alice with homework and working at her job, all the while feeling the heavy weight of the symbol on her wrist. It was a constant reminder of her impending doom, a silent countdown to the day Vice would come to claim her.

The nights were the worst. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts racing with escape plans and futile attempts to understand Vice's twisted mind. What did he truly want from her? Was there any way to win back her freedom? The darkness whispered to her, filling her mind with doubt and dread. But she pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead onthe warmth of Alice's small body pressed against hers, the steady rise and fall of her chest. These moments were precious, and she clung to them like a lifeline in the stormy sea of her fate.

The alarm clock's incessant beeping pierced the silence of the early morning. She rolled over with a groan, reaching out to silence the annoying sound. But before she could, a cold, black, creature-like hand shot out from the shadows beside the bed, wrapping around her wrist. She screamed, jolting back, her heart hammering in her chest. But as she looked down, she saw only the rumpled sheets, the darkness retreating like a chastised animal.

Alice bolted upright, her eyes wide with fear. "Mommy, what's wrong?" she whispered, clutching the covers to her chest. Ivy took a deep, shuddering breath, the phantom grip of the creature's handprint still tingling on her skin. "It's okay, sweetie," she said, forcing a smile. "Just a bad dream. Come on, time to get you ready for school, okay?" She kissed the top of Alice's head, her heart still racing. The lie felt heavy on her tongue, but she couldn't bear the thought of her daughter's innocence being tainted by the truth.

As Alice scampered off to get dressed, Ivy’s phone rang. She reached for it, her hand shaking. The screen lit up with James's name. She answered with a tremble in her voice, praying for good news.

"Ivy," James's voice was a mix of disbelief and joy, "the doctors said they couldn't find any trace of the cancer. They're sending me home today."

Her hand trembled as she clutched the phone, the words echoing through her like a miraculous benediction. "What?" she breathed, the room spinning around her.

"They couldn't find any cancer," James repeated, his voice filled with a mix of relief and astonishment. "They're saying it's a misdiagnosis. It's like a miracle, Ivy."

The room spun around her as the words sank in: a miracle. Was it truly possible that Vice had kept his end of the bargain? She had expected the worst, had steeled herself for Vice to take her but not uphold his end. Yet here she was, the sun streaming through the windows, a future she had thought lost now restored.

"James, are you sure?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Ivy, the doctors are sure," James said, his voice filled with a disbelief that mirrored her own. "They've never seen anything like this. It never existed."

Her hand tightened around the phone, the plastic cold against her skin. "It's a miracle," she murmured, the word feeling strange in her mouth. "It has to be."

"I know it's hard to believe, but the doctors are saying I can go home today," he replied.

"But James," she began, her voice filled with trepidation. "What about the cost?"

James's laughter was tinged with confusion. "Cost? What cost, Ivy? The doctors said it is a miracle. I am in perfect health. They have no explanation for it."

Ivy swallowed the lump in her throat. She had hoped, prayed even, that somehow the bargain she had made with Vice would be forgotten in the face of James's miraculous recovery. But the symbol on her wrist was a constant reminder that shehad not made a deal with a saint, but with a monster who always collects his due.

"They are releasing me today. Can you believe it?"

Her hand clutched the phone tightly, the symbol on her wrist burning with a silent accusation. "No, I can't," she whispered, her mind racing. "But it's incredible, James. You're coming home."

The days that followed were a whirlwind of joy and fear, a masquerade of normalcy painted over the dark bargain she had made. They laughed and played with Alice, enjoying every moment as if it were their last, not realizing it would be. Ivy watched him, her heart both soaring with joy and plummeting with dread.

But as the days turned to weeks, the cracks began to show. The fights that had once been a part of their lives resurfaced, their edges sharper, the pain deeper. It was as if James's return from the brink had brought with it a reminder of everything they had lost, and the fear of losing him again was a constant shadow. They argued over the smallest things, their words laced with accusations and regrets that neither could voice aloud. The house grew tense with unspoken secrets and the weight of the invisible chains that bound her to Vice.

The laughter that had once filled the halls grew forced, and the smiles they shared were brittle, ready to shatter at the slightest provocation. Ivy felt the walls closing in around her, the fear of her impending fate a noose tightening around her neck with every tick of the clock. She knew she had to tell James the truth, but the words remained lodged in her throat, a boulder she couldn't dislodge.

It had been a month to the day since the doctors had given James his grim prognosis. The house was filled with the sound of male camaraderie, as James's friends had gathered for a night of poker and whiskey, a feeble attempt to recapture the carefree days of their youth. Alice was tucked away in her room, her giggles and the occasional thud of a toy punctuating the air as she played with her dolls, blissfully unaware of the shadow that loomed over their lives.

Ivy was in the kitchen, the humdrum of washing dishes a comforting backdrop to the cacophony of the evening. She had just placed a plate in the drainer when the symbol on her wrist ignited with a fiery pain. It was as if the very air around it had turned to flame, searing her skin and sending shockwaves of agony up her arm. She gasped, dropping the plate she had been holding. It shattered on the floor, the sound echoing through the house like a gunshot.

"Ivy, what the hell?" James's voice called out from the living room, the jovial laughter of his friends silenced by the sudden crash. Her eyes snapped up to meet the kitchen doorway, the fire in her veins spreading to her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she called out, her voice trembling. "It just slipped."

The lie felt thick and bitter on her tongue, a stark contrast to the sweetness of the apple pie she had baked for James and his friends. She had hoped the simple act of baking would be a balm to her soul, a way to pretend that everything was okay. But nothing could soothe the burning brand on her wrist.

James's footsteps grew louder as he approached, his concern etched into the lines on his forehead. "What happened?" he asked, his eyes darting to the shattered ceramic on the floor.

"It's nothing," she lied, her voice strained. "Just dropped a few dishes."

But the lie didn't hold. The pain grew, the symbol pulsing with a fierce, insistent rhythm that seemed to echo in time with the thundering of her heart. The room around her grew hazy, the edges of her vision blurring as the agony intensified.

"Ivy, what's going on?" James's voice was closer now, his footsteps quick and urgent. She could hear the concern, the fear in his tone, and it broke her heart to know she had brought this horror into their lives. The scar on her wrist was now a living, breathing entity, a fiery serpent that coiled around her, its fangs sinking deeper with every pulse of pain.