Star

The Stalking Darkness

The nightmares didn't stop. Every night as Astara settled into her small bed at Lilingale and drifted off to sleep, she would soon jerk back awake panting and sodden with sweat. She hated it. She hated the horrifying, life-like nightmares that plagued her sleep like a virus. She hated being tired all the time and not having the energy for pretty much anything. And most of all, she hated that stupid, wretched page that was cursing her.

She glanced at the piece of paper, which was laying still on her bed. It seemed to taunt her by just existing. She glared at it. "I really hate you, you know that? I hate you."

It didn't seem offended.

She groaned. Was this really what she had come to? Talking to a piece of paper? Then again, she talked to books all the time, maybe this wasn't anything out of the ordinary for her. She had tried to get rid of the page several times; twice by fire, twice by rain, and once by ripping it to shreds. But nothing would work.

But it wasn't just that it wasn't working that scared her, it was the fact that each time she would discover deep down she didn't want it to work.

The page made her feel...strange. It overtook her, flooded her body with such a sense of power and surety that it killed her to stop touching it. It made her hungry for all the things that had seemed off limits before, because with this page she knew could do anything. With this power, she could dominate everything.

So that is why the first time she had tried to burn it, she freaked out.  The flames had started to rise, covering the page more and more, and all she had been able to think about was that she was nothing without this page. Nothing without the power the page promised. She was nothing. Nothing. So, in a frenzy of fear, she reached her hands into the fire, and snatched the burning paper out, clutching it to her chest after she had stamped the flames out.

The page looked untouched by the fire, although she had been sure it was burning. Her hands, however, beheld several burns, which she had a tough time figuring out a story to tell Greta and Wanda in the morning when they treated them.

Wanda had nearly been in tears. "You--You have to be more careful!"

"I will," she'd promised.

Greta shook her head. "You mustn't be so careless!"

"I won't," she'd told her.

That night she knelt by the fire again, page in bandaged hands. She threw it in the dancing flames with no hesitation this time, sitting painfully on her bandaged hands in an attempt to restrain herself. She fell asleep there, hoping that when she awoke the paper would be shriveled and scorched beyond recognition.

But when she awoke, The. Page. Was. Still. There.

She couldn't get rid of it. Not by the rain, because whenever she left it outside in a puddle, it appeared in perfect condition on her nightstand. Not by ripping it, because when she had, it had pieced itself back together right in front of her eyes. No, she could not get rid of it, and it truly scared her.

So now she stood in front of the small mirror in her bedroom, examining her appearance. Groaning, she thought about how she must look so similar to Wanda now with her huge dark circles underneath her eyes.

She jumped at the heavy knock at her door. "Breakfast," grunted a deep voice.

Sighing, she reluctantly moved away from the mirror, pulled on a woolen tunic, and made her way to the cottages small kitchen. Wanda was scooping spoonfuls of steaming, cream colored oats in a bowl and sprinkling crystallized blueberries on top. Her stomach growled. She was just glad that this page had chosen to affect her sleep and not her appetite; she would've really hated it then.