Page 19 of Cursed

I peered over the edge of the bed. The hardwood floor was cold under my knees. Solid and sure. I wasn’t dreaming.

The grimoire sat on the end of the bed, waiting. Its leather cover seemed to glow in the darkness, as though it fed off the shadows in the room.

“It’s just a book… just a book… You’re being stupid.” I muttered, but the words sounded hollow.

With each passing second, the air in the room seemed to grow heavier.

I closed my eyes, willing the visions of darkness to dissipate, but they lingered like an uninvited guest, refusing to leave.

But how— Why was the book here? Who had brought it? Why hadn’t I woken—

I glared at the book, and vainly hoped that it would disappear.

The only answer was the quiet rustle of the grimoire’s whispers— it taunted me. My instincts screamed at me to flee—to escape this room, this house, this cursed legacy—but fear anchored me, and the knowledge that I was somehow tied to it all paralyzed me.

The storm outside raged on, and its fury echoed in my chest as I forced myself to take a breath—just one.

A flash of lightning illuminated the room, momentarily banishing the gloom.

Maybe I had imagined it—

But when the light faded, the Bloodstone Grimoire remained, an ominous specter at the foot of my bed.

It beckoned with a sinister allure, and its surface glistened like wet stone.

Unnatural.

I pushed myself to my feet and rubbed my clammy palms against my thighs. I had to get rid of it.

I forced myself to walk—one step at a time.

But each step I took seemed heavier than the last, and as I edged closer, my instincts screamed at me to retreat.

What was it about that book that clawed at my mind like a feral beast? I couldn’t let it win. Not now, not ever.

I paused at the end of the bed.

With a deep breath, I reached out, my trembling hands poised over the grimoire.

The whispers grew louder, more insistent, and wrapped around me like chains.

I could almost feel the pull of dark magic threading through my veins.

It would be so easy to surrender— So easy to let the darkness wash over me and drown all my fears.

But I wouldn’t.

I wouldn’t touch it.

I turned toward the fire that burned low in the grate. The poker, wrought iron and strong—a weapon if I needed it—would have to do. I grabbed it and clenched it in both hands to keep as much distance between me and the book as possible.

With a grunt, I swung the fire poker down and the metal crashed against the grimoire’s cover with a resoundingthud.

The book tumbled off the edge of the bed and I skittered back as it landed on the floor with a dull thump that echoed in the silence.

Defeated. If only for a moment.

“Take that!” I hissed.

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