Page 57 of Virgil's Demons

But no matter how many times I tell myself that, I keep coming back.

There's a pull between us, something invisible and unbreakable. Even now, even after everything, I can't shake this feeling that we are somehow connected. I now know she's love. She's my love. And I will always love her, even though I never had a chance to show her. It's this deep and it's my cross to bear now.

But love won't bring back what we lost. It won't fix what I broke.

The door of her shop clicks shut, and I glance over my shoulder just in time to see her walking down the street, heading home. I follow, keeping my distance, a ghost in the night, my heart heavier with every step.

She'll never love me again. That's the price I paid.

And I'll keep paying it. Every day. Every night. As long as she's safe.

BARYTHAYA

There's something wrong. Something's missing. It's been missing since I got out of the hospital. I'd been in some sort of accident. The doctors said I was suffering from memory loss and that it could take weeks or months for me to gain this lime loss back. Then again, I might never gain it back. Although it was strange, because I remembered my whole life, even the parts I wished would have been erased. But only the last month or so, was gone.

But this feeling, it's not a memory exactly, at least not one I can place, but more like an emptiness that feels like it's been carved out of me, leaving behind a hollow ache in my chest.

The feeling comes in waves. An inexplicable yearning, like a distant echo from someone I can't quite reach.

But tonight? Tonight, it's unbearable.

I twist and turn in bed, the sheets are tangled around my legs, but no matter how much I struggle, I can't find peace. My mind is lost, and soon, I'm not here anymore. Instead, I'm drifting, slipping into a dream.

His hands are the first thing I feel. They're rough, urgent and possesive. They slide over my skin with a hunger that both excites and terrifies me.

His touch ignites every nerve, tracing hot paths over my bare thighs, he grips my hips as if he's claimed every inch of me. I arch into him, my body reacting as if it knows him. The feeling's intimate and desperate. I know him, even though his face is hidden.

The dream shifts, and suddenly I'm beneath him. His weight presses into me, heavy and yet comforting. I should be afraid but instead, all I feel is this desperate, aching need. His hot lips graze my neck, his tongue leaving a hot wet kiss. His warm breath leaves me trembling with want, but no matter how hard I try, I can't see him clearly. It's like he's wrapped in shadows, just out of reach.

But then, I notice it. A familiar symbol, twisting and intricate. It's an ancient ruin etched into his arm. My fingers trace the lines, and something inside me shifts—something otherworldly and powerful. I've seen this symbol before. Iknowit. I grip his arm tighter, my pulse racing as the connection between us deepens, becoming something raw, undeniable.

His kisses deepen, my body molds to his as I feel his hardness press against me. A wave of pleasure crashes over me, ripping through my body, as he slides inside of me as if he belonged there.

My body jerked awake, the orgasm still pulsing through me, It left me shaking and feeling vulnerable, almost on the verge of teard.

I shoved the sheets off me and stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom. Turning the light on, I flinched at the brightness from it. Breathlessly I stared at myself in the mirror. My skin was flushed and I had these deep circles under my eyes. I also had that damn symbol—hissymbol—burned into my mind. Shutting off the light I move out of the bedroom, I can't stay still, can't shake the feeling that something's missing, something important.

I move downstairs to the empty tattoo parlor, the silence was too intense, it unnerved me. Turning on the light I turned to search for my sketchpad. I found it lying on the floor. My hands trembled as I start to sweep through the book, searching for a blank page. Suddenly, my eye catches a drawing, and I slowly trail the pages back and stop, my breath hitching.

The symbol from my dream. Clear. Detailed. Familiar. Was staring back at me.

My chest tightened, and I swallowed hard.

How the hell did this thing get on my pages?

Had I sketched it for someone recently? Who?

Among all these questions, suddenly, a memory flashed in my mind—blinding and violent. A man's handsome face, a glinting blade, the sound of distant screams as blood, so much blood pools at my feet. I dropped the sketchpad, stumbling back, heart pounding in my chest. The memory slips away just as fast as it came, leaving me with this feeling of dread.

What the hell was that?

The next day,the feeling of being watched starts the moment I step outside. At first, I shake it off, thinking it's just my nerves. But as the day drags on, the sensation continues, like a shadow that won't leave. Every time I turn a corner, I feel eyes on me. Every time I stop to look over my shoulder, no one's there, but I could feel them.

By evening, I couldn't take it anymore. My nerves were shot, my pulse hammering as I rushed home.

I was just getting home when I saw him. A figure, dark and purposeful, trailing behind me. Stalking me.

My heart leapt into my throat and fear ripped through me. On instinct I started to run. My feet pounded the pavement, my breathing coming in ragged gasps as I dart down an alley. But I can hear him—he's gaining on me.

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