Page 26 of Cursed

As I wrapped myself in the fluffy bathrobe that hung on the back of my vanity chair, I paused as I caught sight of my reflection.

The smug smile on my face didn’t belong there—the fierce sensation of justification wasn’t… Wasn’t me.

What’s going on…

My gaze went immediately to the floor in front of the fireplace where the Bloodstone Grimoire lay—

But it wasn’t there.

“No—”

The blanket I’d thrown over the cursed book had been folded neatly over the end of my bed, artfully draped.

The grimoire—

My heart was in my throat as I walked through my room, looking for it.

The curtains were closed, and I paused just in front of the window.

The air felt different—thicker—and I reached out with a shaking hand to wrench the heavy damask curtains back.

Pale sunlight, filtered through dark gray clouds, poured into the room and I flinched.

The grimoire lay on the window seat, as though it had always been there. Waiting for me to open it and study its pages.

Fuck.

The stones embedded in its surface gleamed dully and seemed to wink at me as I dared to step closer.

The pulse of its malevolent magic was impossible to ignore, and my palms throbbed with a sharp pain that made my breath hiss through my gritted teeth.

I had to resist it… I had to.

I stumbledback from the window, and my breath caught like thorns in my throat as I searched for a shred of comfort.

The gardens outside should have offered solace, but seeing Valen had ruined any possibility… and now the grimoire.

A sound broke through my horrified silence—a soft rustling that sent chills skittering down my spine.

As I stared in disbelief, the metal latch that held the Bloodstone Grimoire closed clicked open. The cover creaked as it opened, and the pages fluttered with an unnatural grace, as if they were alive—flipped by an unseen hand.

“What—” I breathed, my voice trembled as I took a hesitant step forward.

Time felt distorted, stretching and contracting like a living thing.

My pulse quickened, and each beat of my heart echoed the whisper of my name that seemed to rise from the very fabric of the book.

It was an invitation—a treacherous one—a beckoning that sent waves of fear crashing over my senses.

The pages turned, deliberate and slow, revealing cryptic symbols that pulsed with energy—dark incantations that filled the corners of my mind like tendrils of smoke. I could almost feel them reaching for me. My fingers twitched, yearning to touch the forbidden knowledge, yet a primal instinct screamed at me to stay away.

“I don’t want this—” I whispered, and each word tasted bitter on my tongue.

The air thickened around me, charged with a weight that pressed upon my chest.

The grimoire had no answers, only deeper questions layered beneath its ancient script.

“Just look… What harm ever came from reading a book—“ The pages whispered back, though I knew they carried no voices of their own.

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