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PALE HANDS TREMBLED in harmony with the flames of the few crimson candles as they turned the yellowed pages, and eyes the colour of grey granite flitted over each word. Trying to spot what they were looking for.
It was all too hard to notice the young witch, barely taking up any space in the room, now literally cowering. She was almost engulfed by the shadows, cast over her by the towering forbidden books; pressed tightly against the wall, she slid down to the floor, weighed by the burden.
Spurred on by a gust of air, the candle flames once more performed the restless dance and Alethea raised her head, paranoid as a lunatic who had lost her mind many years ago and was now eternally condemned to expect a monster lurking behind every corner and in every shadow, just waiting to come for her.
Not wanting to consider that maybe she already was. A madwoman, sneaking out of her room at night to chase disappointment again and again, like an addict chasing her addiction, because she would never find what she needed.
Once again she reached the last page, glanced at the crumpled cover and put the book aside to pick up another. Alethea flipped through the pages and her unerring and already memorised movements stopped.
Was that it?, she asked herself, blowing the dust off the book balanced on her hunched knees. The dust seemed uninterested in following the rules and had squeezed itself between the pages that hadn't been opened in years.
The hope that suddenly rose in her was dangerous. The higher you ascend, the deeper you will fall.
Rushed eyes scanned the writings of the extinct language, and even if the symbols were just a bunch of strokes strung together for her, something inside her could understand them.
The ornate symbol at the centre of the page began to writhe as the incantation slipped silently from her mouth. The words, twisted like poison, poured from her pursed lips, dripped down her chin and fell hissing to the cobbled floor. But this dark wonder, this moment of blasphemy, lasted only a moment.
It was barely long enough for her to feel the darkness clawing at her, wrapping rough ropes around her throat. It was a lone tear that rolled down her cheek and fell on the page of the old book, silencing everything.
"No, no. No," she groaned in despair, feeling the strings snap instantly and a force pull them away from Alethea before she could get a hold of them. Once again she tried to find the connection within; the darkness that begged for release and tore at her more with each passing day.
Her tears began to smear the ink of the book and the written words were now just a scrawl with no meaning in her eyes. There was no deeper connection left in her. No understanding of what she did not understand.
