Enter the shadowed mind of Dr. Grimoire, a man who has spent his life delving into the darkest corners of existence-where death and despair reign, and hope withers like the last flicker of a dying flame. In Whispers from the Abyss, Grimoire unearths...
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We made a pact, didn’t we? Under the blood-red moon, our fingers intertwined, our hearts beating in time with the wild, reckless passion we could barely contain. We swore to love each other forever, no matter the cost, no matter the blood that might be spilled along the way.
You smiled at me then, with fire in your eyes, and I smiled back, not knowing that love could become a blade, a sharp edge that would cut us both until nothing but scars remained.
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It was beautiful at first, the way we fought, the way our words burned like flames, the way our hands would tremble with fury only to find each other again, grasping, desperate, hungry for the touch that would make the pain go away.
But the fights— oh, they became the fire that fed us. Every word a spark, every look a match struck against dry wood. And soon, we found that the only way to feel alive was to hurt each other, to tear each other apart and stitch the wounds with kisses that tasted of salt and blood.
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The Descent Into Darkness…
It wasn’t enough, was it? The love, the passion, the raw hunger that consumed us both. We wanted more. We needed more. And so, we made the covenant.
I remember the night well— the cold air, the moon hanging low in the sky, the ritual that bound us together, not just in love, but in blood. We took the knife, and without hesitation, we carved our names into each other’s skin. The blood flowed, warm and dark, and with it, we sealed our fate.
We thought it was love, thought it was passion, but what we made that night was something far darker, far more dangerous.
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We bled for each other, again and again, each argument a fresh wound, each fight a new scar. But the pain— the pain became a drug, and we were addicted to it, couldn’t get enough of it.
You would scream, and I would lash out, and the blood would spill on the floor between us, a crimson river that we both waded through with open arms, ready to love again once the anger had passed.
But the anger— it never truly passed, did it? It simmered beneath the surface, waiting for the next spark, the next fight, the next moment when we would tear each other apart just to feel something.
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The Final Realization…
I see it now. We weren’t lovers— we were fighters, warriors locked in a battle that neither of us could win. Our love was a battlefield, and every kiss was a wound, every touch a bruise. The blood that flowed between us wasn’t a symbol of our love— it was a testament to our destruction.
You stand before me now, your skin marked with the scars I gave you, your eyes still burning with the fire that drew me to you in the first place. But the fire is no longer beautiful. It’s dangerous. It’s deadly. And I— I don’t know how much longer I can stand in its flames without being consumed.
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The Covenant’s End…
We made a pact, under that blood-red moon, to love each other until death. But I see now that death isn’t something that waits for us at the end. Death is here, between us, in every fight, in every word that cuts like a knife. We are killing each other, slowly, with every kiss, with every embrace. And still, we cannot stop.
The covenant we made was not one of love. It was one of blood, of violence, of destruction. And now, we are bound to it, trapped in the cycle of pain and passion that we cannot escape.
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I wonder, when the final blow is struck, when the last drop of blood falls between us— will we look at each other and feel regret? Or will we simply smile, knowing that this was always the way it was meant to end?
The crimson covenant binds us still, and I know— deep down, I know— that one day, it will claim us both.
