Page 46 of The Flesh Remembers
Lord Blackwood's arrival shattered the moment. The cult leader strode into the chamber, his dark robes billowing like storm clouds. The remaining acolytes parted for him, their sweat-slicked bodies trembling as they slumped against the walls in exhaustion. Blackwood’s eyes gleamed as he surveyed the scene, a twisted smile on his lips.
“Magnificent,” he said, his voice low and reverent. “James, you’ve exceeded my every expectation.”
James turned to face him, his smile fading into something harder, more dangerous. “You’re late, Blackwood. We’ve been busy.”
Blackwood chuckled, unperturbed. “So, I see. But we mustn’t lose focus. The next ritual is at hand, and there is much to prepare.” He turned his gaze to Eleanor, hisexpression softening into something almost paternal. “My dear, your devotion has brought us to this point. But now you must make a choice.”
“A choice?” she echoed, her voice hollow.
Blackwood’s smile widened, revealing teeth that seemed sharper than they should be. “Yes. To cross the final threshold, we need one last act of sacrifice. A pure life force freely given, bound with the energy of the ultimate release.” His eyes glittered as he spoke, his voice thick with promise and menace. “A lifeforce still unformed and malleable that can be absorbed through the dark rites of our ritual.”
Eleanor’s heart stopped. The room seemed to tilt around her as realization dawned. “No,” she whispered. “You can’t mean”
“Oh, yes,” Blackwood said, stepping closer. “The child she carries,” he said, gesturing to a pregnant acolyte trembling near the wall, her hands clutching her swollen belly. “The life she carries within her, this child contains the necessary raw materials we can draw upon to feed into James and stabilize his resurrection. Two souls entwined in sacrifice, birthing a power beyond imagining.”
Eleanor felt the blood drain from her face as the woman’s wide eyes met hers. “You can’t do this,” Eleanor said, her voice horrified and frightened. “You’re monsters.”
“And yet, you brought him back,” Blackwood said smoothly. “Your hands are already stained. What’s one more step into the abyss?”
Eleanor’s protests faltered as Blackwood’s eyes bore into hers. “You love him, don’t you?” he continued. “This child, this vessel, can be the piece needed for him to return to this world. You wouldn’t dare deny him this gift.”
James stepped closer, his voice calm, but his pale blue eyes were pleading. “Eleanor, please, my love. I understand your hesitation, but this can be the ultimate act of devotion, to offer what can never be replaced.” His cold fingers grazed her cheek, sending chills through her. “Don’t you want to prove your love? To make me whole?”
Tears blurred her vision as Eleanor turned back to the trembling acolyte, the weight of James’s words crushing her resolve. The pregnant woman sobbed, clutching her belly, whispering pleas that tore through Eleanor’s heart. But James’s presence loomed behind her, unyielding.
“Choose, Eleanor,” Blackwood commanded. “Prove to us and him that your love is stronger than morality and fear.”
Her hands shook wildly as she agonized over the choice placed before her. This was a step too far, even for James. But then, why did she have such difficulty in making her decision? It should be easy. An innocent child, a life not yet lived. Such a sacrifice was too much.
Eleanor closed her tear-filled eyes and let out a long, painful sigh. “Yes,” she whispered, “do it.”
Excerpt from the diary of Dr. Eleanor Ashcroft
Madness. It is pure, unrelenting madness.
How can I endure after what transpired tonight, after what I permitted to happen? I can no longer claim the title of doctor; it feels like a cruel masquerade. Everything I once was, untainted, has now been swallowed whole by my choices. Bringing James back has cost me more than I ever fathomed.
Being a doctor was my anchor to decency, the last shred of my humanity. And now, even that is gone.
I stare into the mirror, but it is not my reflection that gazes back. It is a stranger, hollow-eyed and grotesque. I thank God, if He even still hears me, that my parents are not alive to witness this travesty. My sweet mother, who loved my father as fiercely as I loved James... She would never have sunk to such depths for her love. Her kindness, her empathy, she would rather endure heartbreak than trade another's life for her selfish desires.
And my father. The man I so admired, the man I once hoped to emulate. He dedicated his life to healing, to saving others, while I... I have become his antithesis. He would look upon me now not with anger, but with sadness, a profound disappointment at how I’ve squandered my calling. He was a man who gave life. I am a woman who takes it.
The pendant at my throat has become my tormentor, a constant reminder of the damnation I cannot escape. It burns, pulsing with a malevolent energy that eats away at my sanity. How I long to rip it free, to destroy it, but Blackwood’s words haunt me: there is no undoing this bond. To break it would be to forfeit everything, the work, the lives, and the unspeakable sacrifices.
Yet the thought gnaws at me: what if everything I have done and become was for nothing? Could there be a fate more damning than futility?
And so, I let the pendant remain, though its weight crushes me. I try to forget it, but it will not let me. It whispers, it hums, it owns me. Blackwood is the architect of this nightmare, and I am the puppet. The strings tighten every moment, binding me closer to the abyss.
How could I allow my love to corrupt me so? How did I lose myself so completely?
The Barriers of Flesh and Doubt
The acolytes moved quickly, clearing the centre of the room and drawing a complex sigil with darkened ink. Blackwood’s voice boomed as he called for the final steps to commence.
“Eleanor,” Blackwood commanded, his eyes glinting with unholy purpose, “remove all doubt from your heart. The power you unleash tonight will resonate beyond eternity.”
She froze, paralyzed by the magnitude of the moment. The sigil beneath her glowed ominously, pulsating in time with the chants of the encircling acolytes. The pregnant woman knelt at the centre, her face streaked with tears. Onto her rounded belly, the acolytes painted strange symbols in a dark, viscous liquid that appeared to be blood. The pregnant woman continued to sob until James stepped close to her and laid a hand upon her bare shoulder.
