This is the story of a girl called Astrid, and it starts with a prophecy.
A prophecy of a life that is not hers but one that will be forced upon her nonetheless.But prophecy are always up to those you believed them, and Astrid didn't think further o...
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I lay flat on my bedroom floor, staring at the ceiling as I watch the blades spin round and round. There are all the grimoires that Elijah gave me and a few other books spread out around me.
I couldn't help but be pulled into the swirling vortex of knowledge and ancient wisdom that these grimoires represent. My eyes perused through pages filled with intricate symbols and incantations, feeling like a tiny boat swept adrift in an ocean of the arcane.
But now I feel filled with information, like an information overload. My mind buzzed with thousands of thoughts, concepts, and theories; they danced and twirled around me, a swirling tornado of ancient knowledge and newfound wisdom.
Tick-tock.
Tick-tock.
The clock in the corner of the room resounded, its rhythmic beats adding a haunting melody to the symphony of my thoughts. It seemed to be urging me onward, deeper into the depths of the swirling thoughts in my head.
The clock hands struck the hour, the metallic chimes echoing through the silence of my solitude, a jarring reminder of the passing time.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to reorganise my thoughts.
I heard the gentle tap on the bedroom door before it swung open and Elijah steps inside the room, his steady gaze on me.
"Something wrong?" I asks him, my head slightly tilted to the side.
"No, just checking in," he replied, sliding his hands into his pockets. His eyes took in the mess of books and grimoire scattered across the floor, a faint frown etching his handsome features.
"You should rest," he said, stepping further in.
I snort, "Haven't you heard, I am dead, Elijah. The dead don't need to rest."
He sighed deeply, matching my gaze with an intensity that only Elijah could muster. He was a man of many words, yet in this moment, he chose silence as his ally.
"Perhaps not," he finally responded, "but the undead do have their own needs."
"Like what?" I asked, my gaze challenging him, an impish grin touching my lips. "Being a pain in the behind for the rest of eternity?"
His brow furrowed further at my sarcastic response, but his lips turned up into a small smile, showing his amusement. "Like sanity, which you are rapidly losing in this sea of grimoires."
I laugh, a hollow and almost mechanical sound. "Sanity," I repeat the word as if it's a foreign language, "what need do I have for that anymore?"
Elijah doesn't look amused. He sighs looking between me and the door of the room, "I want to show you something," He said, finally breaking his gaze from me to look towards the door. He reaches his hand out and waits for me to take it to join him, an expectant silence filling the room.
