Page 29 of Cursed

The fire rallied, and the bright flames crept along with leather binding and charred the pages, but the grimoire refused to yield, and its dark magic began to repel the flames. My stomach knotted, and dread unfurled like a black flower in my chest as the grimoire seemed to absorb the destructive power of the flames. Once again, the fire changed. Red, violet, and then black flames filled the hearth, finally becoming a black inferno that belched choking gray smoke into the room.

“No... No!” I coughed, and my voice cracked as the thick tendrils of acrid smoke swept into my lungs. “Why won’t you burn?”

The darkness within the grimoire seemed to laugh back at me, mocking my desperation.

Frustration clawed at me, raw and unyielding. I stumbled backward and fell to my hands and knees as fear morphed into rage as urgency coursed through my veins. I needed to rid myself of its influence—I had to reclaim my life.

Desperate, my gaze darted around the room until it landed on the poker that leaned against the hearth.

Get it out, make it stop!

I lunged for the poker and my fingers wrapped around its handle as stinging tears streamed down my cheeks.

With a desperate cry, I thrust it towards the fire.

This had to work.

I pressed the wrought iron tip into the seething chaos, and winced as the vicious heat licked at my skin, scorched my face, and threatened to consume me whole.

“Come on!” I gritted my teeth and sweat beaded on my forehead. The poker scraped against the grimoire’s spine and I let out a small cry of victory.

Almost.

With one swift motion, I hooked the edge of the book and pulled it toward me.

Agony lanced through my palm as the inferno retaliated. Blisters erupted on my fingertips, fiery pain that mixed with the adrenaline that coursed through me. I cried out, but the sound was lost in the crackling of the flames, but I didn’t stop—I couldn’t stop.

With every ounce of strength I had, I twisted the poker and gritted my teeth against the agony that radiated from my fingertips. I felt the metal hook onto the edge of the grimoire, and with a primal scream, I yanked it back and dragged the grimoire from the fire. As it slid onto the floor in a shower of black sparks, I collapsed backward and the poker spun out of my grasp. I cradled my injured fingers against my chest and gasped for air as the choking smoke that had filled the room began to dissipate.

The searing heat faded to a dull throb as I stared at the cursed object that now rested inches away from me. As I gazed upon the grimoire, the thud of my racing heart eclipsed the pain in my hands. Although stained with soot and smoke, it remained undeniably unharmed.

I pushed myself to my knees and knelt there, breathless and trembling, surrounded by the remnants of my reckless act. Ashes clung to my bathrobe and darkened the pale fabric with streaks of black.

The Bloodstone Grimoire lay in front of the fire, surrounded by chunks of charcoal and a dusting of dark gray ash.

Its black leather cover shone ominously in the weakly flickering light of the fireplace, and the stones embedded in the dark leather seemed to mock me with their dull gleam.

I half-heartedly tried to brush away some of the ash on my robe, but it only made the mess worse. My fingers throbbed as I moved, and each tiny motion sent waves of agony coursing through my burnt skin.

What was I supposed to do now?

I couldn’t destroy it— not like this.

Tears choked my breath, and I struggled to take a full breath as my body convulsed with anguish.

It was too much— and I was too weak—

What was I supposed to do now?

“Look—”the grimoire’s whispers returned, louder now. Taunting me.

I’d tried to destroy it, but I wasn’t strong enough.

“You can learn to be strong—”

My tears were salty on my lips and I brushed the backs of my hands against my cheeks as I fought to control my emotions.

No choices left.

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