Page 57 of Demon Monster's Little Human

Tattered, its pages barely holding together.

The moment my eyes land on it, something in my gut tightens, coils, snaps.

I know this.

No. I shouldn’t.

Liora’s fingers tremble as she flips through the pages, her eyes scanning the script. She can read it.

Impossible.

Humans are not taught language. They are not allowed.

Yet, she understands.

"It’s… magic," she murmurs. "Purna magic."

That word sends something sharp through me.

I lunge, ripping the notebook from her hands.

She stumbles back, startled by the force of it.

"I—Dain, what?—?"

My grip tightens on the book, my claws nearly tearing through the ancient pages.

This is wrong. This place.

This writing. This feeling.

My chest is too tight. My mind is a fractured thing, a broken past that refuses to fit together.

I see flashes.

Hands, ink-stained. A voice. There’s laughter ringing in my ears, soft as silk and sharper than knives.

I see her. The woman.

The one who sealed me away.

The purna.

My gaze lands on the figurine at the farthest end of the room.

My stomach lurches. A small, hand-carved stone figurine, resting atop a crumbling shelf.

A gargoyle.

I know this.

I remember this.

My breath is razor-sharp, my chest tight. I step toward it, picking it up. It fits into my palm perfectly.

I’ve held this before. Because she made this.

My mind blurs, fractures.

---