Her words are doom.

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I was born a witch with no magic. In the witch world, that made me worse than useless. But I carried a forbidden curse: every doom I spoke became fate. When I was five, I told a dark witch her broom would throw her off. Seconds later, she smashed headfirst into stone. So I learned to stay silent. Until my adopted sister Lydia framed me for saying she slept with Professor Harrington for forbidden grimoires and studied dark magic. My family locked me in the west tower, my fiancé ripped off my heirloom pendant and gave it to her, and they forced me to kneel and confess. I smiled and opened my mouth. Everything they called a rumor about Lydia began coming true. Every. Single. Word.