Son of the wicked, your curse is this: My heart was stolen from me, and so shall I steal yours. You will know true love, but when the clock strikes midnight on your sixteenth year, you will forget. Let no word, no touch, no day or night linger in your memory. Let reminders go unseen and unheard. Let your love be lost to you in name and in being, and let each passing moment take your love farther from your reach.
God why do you have to be such a bitch?
