The Tale of Tam Lin
brIAR
T he sleek computer in the library hums to life, one of the few pieces of modern technology still functioning within Frostspire Keep's walls. My own phone died the day I arrived, another victim of the curse's strange effect on electronics. I settle into the ergonomic chair—a jarring contrast to the ancient wooden tables and centuries-old books surrounding me—and try to find the words to explain everything to Sara Ann.
The high-end monitor casts a soft glow across the polished desk, illuminating the leather-bound books stacked nearby. It's strange how this corner of the library represents the collision of Ronan's worlds—his modern wealth meeting the castle's ancient magic. Most of his cutting-edge devices fail here, but somehow this computer survives, as if the castle permits this one tenuous connection to the outside world.
Dear Sara Ann,
I know this email will sound crazy, but I need your folklore expertise. Remember all those fairy tales and myths we used to research together? I'm living in one. Or maybe trapped in one—I'm not entirely sure anymore.
Something's wrong with this castle. The magic here (yes, actual magic) keeps getting stronger, then fading, like it's fighting against something. Books move on their own, symbols appear and disappear, and yesterday... yesterday I kissed someone who might be cursed. The whole library erupted with power when it happened.
I know how this sounds. But you're the only person I can talk to about this. The owner, Ronan—he's pushing me away now, but when we touched, the entire castle seemed to come alive. There's this curse, and I think I'm supposed to help break it somehow, but I don't even know where to begin.
Does any of this remind you of something from your research? Any folklore about cursed castles or magical transformations? I feel like I'm missing something obvious, some pattern I should recognize.
Please don't think I've lost my mind.
- Briar
I hit send before I can second-guess myself. The study feels different tonight—more alive, more aware. Books shift slightly on their shelves as I stand to stretch, and I swear the shadows deepen in response to my movement. Even the air feels charged, like the moment before lightning strikes.
Trying to restore some normalcy, I begin tidying the desk. But every time I move a book, it somehow finds its way back to its original position. The third time this happens, I notice something odd—one particular volume keeps appearing more prominently than the others, as if deliberately catching my attention.
"Alright," I murmur to the empty room. "I can take a hint."
The computer chimes suddenly, making me jump. Sara Ann's response already? She must have been online. My heart pounds as I open her email:
Briar,
First, I don't think you're crazy. Second, have you ever heard of "The Tale of Tam Lin"? Because everything you've described—the curse, the transformations, the way you have to hold on despite impossible odds—it reminds me of Janet and how she had to fight to save her love from the Queen of Faeries.
Janet found Tam Lin in an enchanted wood. He warned her away, but she kept coming back. When she learned he was cursed to be sacrificed to Hell, she waited for him on Halloween night. The Faerie Queen transformed him into terrible shapes—lion, snake, burning coal—but Janet held on through every change. Her love and determination broke the curse and saved him.
The key was that she had to hold on no matter what form he took, no matter how frightening things became. Her unwavering faith and love were stronger than the Queen's magic.
Maybe this isn't just about breaking a curse. Maybe it's about having the courage to hold on when everything and everyone tells you to let go.
Be careful, but trust your instincts. They've never led you wrong before.
Love,
Sara Ann
P.S. Send more details when you can. And if you need me to come there, just say the word.
I read the email twice more, my mind racing. The book that kept drawing my attention earlier seems to vibrate on the shelf now, its spine glowing faintly in the dim light. When I pull it down, it falls open to a collection of transformation myths. The pages rustle on their own, settling on an illustration of a woman clutching a man as he changes from human to beast to flame.
"Janet held on through every change," I whisper to myself. The words seem to hang in the air, making the shadows dance. Yesterday's kiss flashes through my memory—the way the library's magic surged around us, how Ronan pulled away as if burned. He's trying to protect me, but what if that's exactly the wrong thing to do?
The study feels different now, more intimate somehow. Books continue shifting on their shelves, but the movement feels less random, more deliberate. It reminds me of how Ember—the library—responds to my presence. I trail my fingers along the spines, feeling that now-familiar warmth pulse beneath my touch.
"The curse feeds on isolation," I remember reading in the journal. "With each passing year, the walls grow higher." But what if that's not just metaphorical? I've seen how the castle responds when Ronan and I are together, how the magic strengthens instead of fades.
Another book slides from its shelf, landing open on the desk. This one shows various magical symbols, including some that match those I saw on the silver candlestick. The text seems to shimmer as I lean closer:
"True transformation requires willing sacrifice. The price must be paid in faith and fear alike."
The temperature drops suddenly, and frost patterns spread across the study's windows. They form shapes that echo the symbols in the book, as if the castle itself is trying to communicate. I think of how Ronan looked after our kiss—torn between desire and terror, wanting to pull me closer even as he pushed me away.
"Like living in a fairytale gone wrong," I'd written to Sara Ann. But maybe that's not quite right. Maybe it's more like living in a fairytale that hasn't reached its ending yet. Janet had to trust her heart even when everything seemed impossible. She had to hold on despite her fear.
The computer screen flickers, drawing my attention back to Sara Ann's words: "Maybe this isn't just about breaking a curse. Maybe it's about having the courage to hold on when everything and everyone tells you to let go."
"It won't be that simple, I'm afraid."
I whirl to find Alistair in the doorway, his silver hair gleaming in the dim light. He glances at the open books on the desk, then at the frost patterns on the windows. Something flickers across his face—recognition? Concern?
"The story of Tam Lin," he says quietly, moving to examine the illustration. "An interesting choice."
"The book chose me," I reply, watching his reaction carefully. "They seem to do that a lot here."
"Indeed." His faded blue eyes meet mine. "Though I've noticed they choose differently for different people. The castle has its own way of... guiding those who need guidance."
"Like it guided me here in the first place? That email invitation I can never find anymore?"
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "Some stories write themselves, Miss Everly. We merely play our parts."
"And what part am I supposed to play?" The question comes out sharper than intended. "Everyone keeps warning me away, but the castle—the magic—it keeps pulling me closer."
"Perhaps that's your answer right there." He runs one finger along the edge of the book, tracing the outline of Janet holding her transformed love. "Not everyone has the strength to hold on through the darkness. But then, not everyone is meant to."
The air feels charged again, heavy with meaning I can't quite grasp. "You know more than you're telling me."
"I know many things, Miss Everly. But knowledge isn't always the key." He moves toward the door, then pauses. "Sometimes the right question isn't 'what do I need to know?' but rather 'what am I willing to risk?'"
He disappears into the corridor before I can respond, leaving me alone with the shifting books and dancing shadows. But his words linger, mixing with Sara Ann's email and the tale of Tam Lin until everything seems to blur together like watercolors in the rain.
I look down at the illustration again—Janet holding on despite impossible odds, her love stronger than any magic. The frost patterns on the windows seem to pulse in time with my heartbeat, and somewhere in the castle, I swear I hear wolves howling.
"I'm willing to risk everything," I whisper to the watching shadows. To Ember, to the castle, to whatever force keeps drawing me deeper into this mystery. "I'm not letting go."
The words feel like a vow, heavy with promise and possibility. The study's magic swells around me, books trembling on their shelves as if in response. Even the old computer's screen brightens for a moment, Sara Ann's email still glowing with truth:
"Be careful, but trust your instincts. They've never led you wrong before."
Outside, snow begins to fall, thick flakes swirling past the frosted windows. But inside, I feel warmer than I have in days, certain of my path for the first time since arriving at Frostspire Keep. Let Ronan push me away. Let the curse fight back. Like Janet, I'll hold on through every transformation, every test.
Some stories write themselves, Alistair said. Looking around the study, at the books that seem to brighten under my gaze, at the magical symbols that dance across frost-covered glass, I realize something: I'm not just reading this story anymore.
I'm living it.
And I intend to see it through to the end, no matter what it costs.