Page 69 of Cursed

Reach.

Please.

The air around me was suffocating, and the lights flickered—but I must have imagined it.

Shadows flickered at the corners of my vision, and they twisted and writhed like serpents in the gardens hunting their prey.

But I was their prey.

“Mom…” I choked out. My knees weakened, and I clutched the edge of the marble tub for support as the world around me began to shimmer and distort.

The symbols I had drawn, crimson and raw, pulsed with energy—a heartbeat that was not mine.

The surface of the red-stained water rippled, but I could already feel the magic retreating.

Panic flared, hot and blinding, and ignited every nerve in my body as desperation clawed at my throat. “No! Not yet!” I gasped.

My vision blurred as I slipped down to my knees.

The edges of the room softened into a hazy twilight where reality twisted into nightmares. Shadows writhed in the mirrors and over the surface of the bloodied water as it sloshed against the sides of the tub. The whispers grew louder, chilling echoes of laughter that danced just beyond my reach.

I could almost make out her voice—

“Mom? Come back!” I cried out, but even I could hear the tremor of fear that strangled my voice. The darkness surged, swallowing me whole, and my knees buckled beneath me.

I slid down to the cold floor and smeared the bloody circle as I collapsed. My head struck the tiles with a dullthudand I let out a groan as my cheek pressed against the marble. The shadows crept across the floor toward me, but I couldn’t lift my head.

Darkness flooded in.

I wasn’t strong enough—

* * *

When I awoke,the chill of the tiles seeped into my bones, and I gritted my teeth against the pain as I pushed myself up to a sitting position, even though every muscle protested against the movement. Pain surged through my skull and I pressed my palm to my forehead, willing the agony to recede, but it only intensified, pulsing in rhythm with my heartbeat.

“Ugh…” I groaned, but my voice was raspy and weak and my throat ached.

The grimoire lay open on the floor, but I found its pages wiped clean of the secret incantations I had uttered. Its whispers were quieter—but they weren’t gone.

Valen was right— Titus was right… I wasn’t strong enough to handle the power that coursed through that damned book.

My fingers trembled as I reached for the book and pulled it into my lap.

The ink beneath my bloodstained fingertips had faded— as if nothing had happened.

But the dried blood on my wrist and hand, and the smeared sigils on the marble tiles, told a different story.

“Looks like a crime scene in here,” I muttered.

It is a crime scene— a voice snapped.

I was sure I’d imagined it.

My eyes widened at the dark words and my head whipped around.

I was alone in the bathroom.

Was that relief that rushed over me? Or disappointment in my failure?

---