Damnant Quod Non Intellegunt

Capitulum I

 I was sitting up in the attic when it happened.

Just so it doesn't sound so weird that I was sitting in an attic, here's some context. There's an opening to the attic in the ceiling of my closet, but it wasn't noticeable when you immediately walked in. You had to climb up the dresser on the right side of the closet before hitting the side of the loose panel. Once it would pop open, it was just a matter of moving the panel out of the way and lifting yourself up into the attic. It was a great spot to be, especially because the only other entrance into the attic was through my parents closet, but they had a dresser that covered up the panel.

Why I was in the closet? To hide from my parents for a few minutes. That's the simple answer to why I was up there at the time. That and I had most of my shit up there anyway.

It had been a slower day. It was the last day of a four-day long weekend. My parents were at work and my siblings were out doing their college stuff or doing their tutoring sessions. I had chosen to say I was going to spend the day at the library — I had the librarian, Kurapika, to be my man behind the scene to convince my parents that I was actually being productive.

Anyways, long answer short. I was trying to avoid my responsibilities by hiding in the attic.

This attic was old. The house was at least as old as my great-grandfather times five, so, like, 1600's ish? Sure, let's go with that. But the attic had all the shit from back then still lying around, because our family is a family of culture or some shit. I don't know.

I was doing a bit of snooping around in the old books, trying to be careful when touching them so that they wouldn't turn to dust, because they are that old. Nevertheless, I found some interesting things. Some old medicine books. You know, the ones where the prescribed shit like cracked and whiskey to treat disease. There was also some old diaries, but those were boring. Just stuff about the plague and religion, but I'm sure my family had to stop believing in it in a few years time because a dairy from my great-grandfather times two stated something about hiding his atheism.

Amongst all of this bullshit, there was one thing I found to be very interesting. It was this leather-bound book that was obviously from hundreds of years before me but still held together like a new bound book. It was a harsh burgundy, bloody, color with the words '-i--craft' faded out on the front. If you're not living in an innocent bubble, you'll be able to notice it says witchcraft, but only the words seemed to have been faded out, while the rest of the book still had its pigment holding in strong. There was also some Latin underneath the faded word, and normally someone wouldn't be able to read it because Latin is a dead language, but I can, because of the forced Latin classes, my parents made me take. It read "Quaestiones artibus et omnibus qui foedus impius est," which rounds out to read Essentials to Witchcraft and all that is Unholy. They are in no way trying to be subtle about the intentions of this book.

I move with the book in hand to the little set up I have underneath the only window within the attic. It's a westward facing window that's circular and has intricate paneling that casts patterns onto the floor. It's an insanely large window for how much space it takes up, but it offers just enough light to illuminate any part of the attic that isn't covered by some bookshelf or trinket.

Underneath I have at least four massive bean bag chairs that are all covered in thousands of blankets and pillows so that it can form some sort of bed like a feature of me to sit and enjoy.

I sit down with the book in hand, propping up a few pillows to offer myself some back support, before I open the page.

I'm instantly greeted with neat, flowy handwriting that had to have been done with pen and ink, judging by how it caused the pages to ripple underneath it. I look at the aesthetic of the page for a little while longer before retraining my attention to what had actually been written.