Costa was sliding through the night streets, as usual, an invisible and silent shadow, carrying justice, razor-sharp blade darting from the darkness like a tongue of a metal snake, a flicker of cold moonlight on the cold steel, cutting through skin, tendons, muscles, and bones. The accused, a city deputy who recently went against opium merchants, twitched on the floor, hissing and gurgling, his severed vocal cords weren't able to produce anything more vocal, and the blood, gushing from his throat, pooled on the fine blackwood floor paneling ruining it. Smears of blood doing irreparable damage to exquisitely painted silk covers on his bed, blood soaking every beautiful thing in its reach, making it look dirty and grotesque.
Costa quickly left the premises leaving cleaning of the mess to whoever was going to do it. He didn't like the mess; he liked cleanliness and order. The fresh air of the street cleared his thoughts, and he enjoyed its sweetness while moving swiftly through the labyrinth of dark and narrow passages and lanes. The sweet air of late spring with a tender fragrance of flowers in it. And the salty, iodine smell of the ocean.
A new thought crossed Costa's mind and his serene enjoyment of warm spring night was suddenly ruined. He never thought about people he executed. Quite naturally they were none of his business. He did his job well, and he was just part of how the things were. People died every day somewhere, and the world was full of pain and grievances. It didn't bother him. Before the Curse. She was a witch in a guise of a young woman with the very deep black eyes in which he drowned. And there had been a flash of warm bliss that lasted forever, and Costa decided that the world was full of beauty and meaning. It was short like a whiff of summer breeze, then at some point, this shining euphoric haze dissolved, and the things took their normal form. Costa didn't do opium, but he thought this probably was something similar. He felt the loss, but he knew it wouldn't last long. Things were getting back to normal.
A couple of weeks later he scuttled through the icy winter wind after execution of another crooked politician. He slept until the next evening. He saw a dream where he was among many people frolicking on a green meadow lit by the bright summer sun. They laughed and cheered him when he passed. He smiled in return and felt somewhat happy; he recognized someone he knew, his old friend. Some girl whom he couldn't remember, but she looked somewhat familiar. Then Costa saw something that made him frown. He saw a middle-aged man whom he realized he knew well, but at the same time, he couldn't remember who he was. The man wearing a light tunic smiled and waved at him. Then it dawned on him. This was a guy he dispatched the previous night. Costa noticed the horrible deep cut on the man's throat through which he could see the bloody mess of hacked muscles and bones. Blood was pouring on the meadow, ruining it. Costa turned and saw the people he knew convulsing on the ground. Everything was getting red and dirty, smeared with blood which spurted from the dying bodies. Then it was raining. And the rain was blood. Costa stood at the center of it, and he started to cry. Then he realized that there was nobody to hear him crying. He screamed.
Costa woke up with a bad feeling that it wasn't going to end at that. Then several nights later he knew with certainty that a witch disguised as a young woman with deep black eyes put a curse on him. Every night the dream returned, and the vivid pictures of the dream didn't evaporate when he woke up. He kept thinking about people he killed during the day, and their images stood before his eyes. Sometimes he was able to shake off these thoughts, but eventually, they were always returning.
Costa stood in the warm darkness of spring night breathing the air full of fragrances of flowers and ocean. He knew that the dreams were going to return. Before that, there was a long period when he didn't see dreams, and he was out of work. He didn't kill anybody. And he stopped thinking about them. And the spring was beautiful and full of sunshine. Lush green clouds of tender leaves grew on the twigs, and the spring flowers exuded colorful delight. Costa thought that the Curse had been lifted. Now he realized that it wasn't and the beads of cold sweat formed on his forehead. He realized that he wouldn't be able to endure more dreams.