Dark Faïz ( Book 1 ) [ COMPLETED]

Chapters 6-6

My voice was having trouble making sound. William was waiting for my next words, and encouraged me to continue by placing his hand on my shoulder.

— "He has plans. I realized it was only a matter of time. The Maestro wants me more than anything. Why me?"

Compassionate toward my distress, William took my hand and directed me to the Callis, positioning himself just behind me. This sudden proximity between us disturbed me somewhat. Separated by a few centimeters, he provided me with the security I hadn't felt in a while. A strange feeling of well-being settled in me. His hands rested on either side of the book, which forced me to stay in the hollow of his arms. The only time I had been so close to another man was at the Halloween ball with Faïz. And then the image of him and Rachelle came back to ruin that memory. Fortunately, my back was against William. He couldn't see the saddened look that had covered my face. He opened the huge manuscript, which revealed texts written with ancient calligraphy in a language that was unknown to me. Drawings, but also diagrams, appeared as the old pages turned, noting many blank sheets without any inscription. His hand finally stopped on a page where a portrait of a woman was drawn. The young face with its distant eyes and wavy hair immediately caught my attention. The portrait, drawn meticulously with a gray wooden pencil, seemed only partially finished. My fingers, attracted like a magnet, brushed against the contours of the young woman's face, and then color appeared where my fingers landed and disappeared as soon as I removed them. On contact with my skin, the Callis had just come to life. Fascinated, I immediately turned to William for an explanation.

— "How...is that possible?"

— "Then it is you," he whispered, subjugated.

His eyes stared at the manuscript. He seemed captivated by the scene he had just witnessed. His gaze detached itself from the book and then came to rest on me.

— "The Callis recognized you, thank God," he said, relieved.

I turned back to the book again to touch the portrait. This time I placed my hands on the cheeks. The cheekbones immediately turned pink. Then I tried it on the long hair and finally the eyes. These came to life instantly, revealing a deep and vibrant green. My fingers froze. I could not take my eyes off the drawing, disturbed by what I saw. I realized that the young woman on the paper was none other than myself. A little scream escaped my throat. I removed my hand instantly.

— "How long has this manuscript been in existence?"

— "Eighteen years! It is we, the guardians of history, who have the mission to update it over the years. Some manuscripts that you see arranged here around you have existed since the mists of time. We listen to the words of the prophets who come from all over the world to announce the divine words to us, and we transcribe them. Only, some passages have been written in a cosmic way since Athanasius threatened human existence. These passages are invisible to all of us except one person."

He pointed to the portrait. I turned around to face him again, knowing that he was talking about me without aiming directly at me. The proximity between us allowed me to examine the features of his face more closely. His hair, so light, combed backwards, freed the whole of his face, allowing me to soak up his beauty. There was something hypnotic in him. In an effort, I looked away to regain a bit of my mind and my breathing, which had become labored. For a short while, I thought I saw a slight sneer on the corner of his lips. Did he notice that he was disturbing me a bit? As a result, I freed myself from his arms, which forced him to step back and let go of his grip on me.

— "This illustration is me?" I dared to ask at last.

He leaned his head backwards, his eyes turned towards the sky as if looking for words.
Then his clear gaze bore into mine.

— "Yes," he agreed in his crystalline voice.

— "When was it drawn?" I insisted with aplomb.

— "Zoe..."

William, uncomfortable, approached me, but I automatically took a step back, refusing to be spared the truth.

— "Thirty-eight years ago," he confided.