The page crackles softly, like fire licking dry wood. Then the ink appears- slowly, like it's thinking.These are not Elara's thoughts. They belong to someone else. Someone trapped inside.
There are no clocks here.No windows.No day or night.Just stillness that tastes like metal and old secrets.
The air feels heavy. It's always damp.The walls breathe- not loudly, but enough for me to hear them inhale when I'm quiet.Sometimes they whisper. Not with words, but with pressure.They press on my skin like fingers, like they're trying to remember what a heartbeat feels like.
I try to count the hours, but time doesn't move the same way down here.I sleep, but I don't rest.I open my eyes, but I never feel awake.
There was a door once. I remember it- just barely.I saw light leaking through it, like hope.I think someone was on the other side.I think it was Elara.
But when I ran to it, the walls grew teeth.They bit the door away.
Now there's only this place.The Grimoire calls it "the Hollow".
He comes sometimes.
I don't know what he is. Not vampire. Not witch.Not even ghost.
Just a shape.A tall, thin shadow that doesn't walk- it glides.Its face is smooth. Empty.But it watches.
I feel it when I move too quickly. When I cry.When I speak Elara's name.
That's when the spiral on its chest begins to glow.Red. Like the book's ink. Like dried blood.
The Grimoire wants to keep me here.It feeds on memory. On pain.It takes the strongest part of you first- the part that fights.Then it takes your name.Then your voice.
I think I'm forgetting my own voice.I whisper to myself just to remember how I sound.
Sometimes the book lets me speak through the pages.Not always.Just when it's bored.
It lets me bleed words into the paper.That's what this is.
So if you're reading this… if you're still whole…
Tell Elara to stop.
She thinks she's strong enough.She thinks she can save me.
But the book doesn't care about saving people.
It only wants to be read.
And once it knows your name…it never forgets.
The final line sinks into the paper.The ink dries like old tears.For a brief moment, the page feels warm- like someone held it from the inside.