Jack (JATCCH)
The Ticking Curse. (If he never met Miss Acacia. aged up)
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Jack had learned, from the moment he could understand words, that love would kill him.
Madeleine whispered it in his ear as she tucked him in at night, her voice thick with fear. Madeleine, the very witch who delivered him had warned him—his heart is no longer a heart at all, but a clock, delicate and unnatural. If it breaks, so will he.
So, Jack lived carefully. He was even locked away most of his life in that house atop the ‘haunted hill’. He measured his emotions the way a watchmaker handles fine gears—deliberate, precise, never too much pressure. Anger made the hands tremble. Fear made the gears grind. And love… love was the worst of all. Love could stop the ticking altogether.
But now, as he stood in the dim glow of the streetlamps, his chest a battlefield of erratic beats and skipping seconds, he knew he had failed. His fingers clenched at his coat, as if pressing against the worn fabric could still the storm within.
She was standing there. Just a few feet away. Smiling.
And Jack felt it—that dangerous, beautiful ache.
The tick-tock faltered. His breath hitched. The small cuckoo bird springing out of the clock that is his heart.
His heart was breaking, and he was letting it.