Page 8 of The Princess and the Demon

There were books that covered many wars throughout history. Some in which technology played a significant role. Pictures of armored vehicles and weapons I had never seen fascinated me as a child.

I took pride in myself for all the knowledge I had absorbed.

Although there was still a lot here I had never touched, I had at least skimmed through most of it.

I pause on a book, pulling it from the shelf, blowing the dust from the cover.

Opening it gingerly, I run my fingers over the faded pages. There was a lot in here I didn’t understand, but it remained one of my favorites.

I close it again, running my finger over the faded title.

“The Holy Bible.”

I hold it to my chest for a moment before I return it to its place on the shelf.

I continue my search, looking for anything that will stand out.

I stop at a large book bound in black leather. The words on the binding have since faded. Nothing but the engravement remains.

“The Lesser Key of Solomon.”

Opening the book, I flip through the heavy parchment. I lift the book to my nose, inhaling deeply. The smell of books always made me feel at ease.

Like I belonged.

Walking to the table at the center of the room I sit, placing the candle next to me. I flip through the pages slowly, scanning the text.

The book goes over every single demon in the hierarchy of…Hell.

Each demon has their own station, an army they control, as well as the types of powers and advantages they have.

My heart skips when I come across the name.

Amon.

I scan the page, my heart thudding in my chest.

The stories were all true.

Everything I had been told as a child. All the scary stories of demons coming in the night.

It was all true.

The demon’s sigil is drawn at the bottom of the page, and I swallow thickly.

Turning the page, I frown. Between two pages lies a folded piece of parchment.

I pick it up, opening it gingerly before turning it towards the candlelight to see the image better.

It’s the same sigil that’s in the book, but there’s writing at the bottom. I run my fingers over the letters, my frown deepening.

It’s a different language, but I can’t decipher it. It looks like…

“Latin!” I say, jumping from the sound of my own voice.

I jump up from the table, grabbing my candle before moving towards the door to open it. The creaking groan of the door fills the empty space, and I pause, listening for movement before stepping out into the library.

Leaving the door cracked, I patter to a shelf a ways down from the door, stopping to run my fingers along the bindings.

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