Dead trees surround the place as a thick fog envelops them. The dried leaves and twigs lay scattered upon the black marsh soil.
A gong resounds through the eeriness of the dark night.
I hugged myself to shield from the bitter cold, but I feel the thick cloth of a coarse cloak hanging on my shoulder.
This cloak, I remember this.
I was left with no time to wonder as another horrifying gong sent shivers down my spine.
Out of nowhere, one person after another started appearing, forming a circle around me. A mix of males and females of unknown races. They approach me, only to turn their back to me. One after another, until finally there were seven.
And then there was me… at the centre of the circle.
Why do I always seem to find myself at the centre of these circles?
As soon as it hit me, the ground below me intensely shook. The dead leaves and twigs, even the pebbles, trembled as the land vibrates. The dead trees appear to be dancing before the red glowing light seeped through the soil and encircled around us.
And to take its place, a ritual diagram is formed.
The fog made its way to us as if it was being sucked in by the circle. It cloaked us replacing the breathable air with a suffocating thick white one.
I could feel the air being squeezed out of my lungs by the cold, heavy air. I struggle to gasp for air, but the fog took that chance to enter my mouth. My throat was suddenly filled with the slicing air going straight to my lungs, filling it until it forced out the oxygen with me.
The fog felt like an arm going into my mouth, reaching for my organs.
I feel like I’m dying.
My eyes bulge, threatening to pop out, and my ears ring like metal being scraped against shards of glass in my ears.
“This is the price.”
The voice in my mind said.
“This is the price you have to pay...”
My insides twirled around with each other.
The blood in my veins pumps with a force that threatens to rupture me from the inside.
The beating of my heart grew faster with every desperate attempt I make to draw a breath and bloats like a balloon continuously pumped with air.
Right when I felt my heart is going to explode, the voice inside me completes her prophetic statement with a whisper.
“…This is the price you have to pay to open Paradise.”
Chapter 3
Speaking of the Devil
“Lili? Liliwen!”
The sound of my name being called pulled me back wherever I’ve been.
I could breathe again, and my heartbeat steadily in my chest.
My eyes adjusted to the surrounding after coming from a total blackout.
Then, I realized I was still standing in the library.
The mysterious lady is nowhere to be found, but standing right in front of me is Ryia, who had a puzzled expression drawn on her face.
“What is going on with you? You’ve been staring at nothing for hours there,” Ryia looks genuinely concerned as she creased her brows in worry. If I were still her puppet, I would believe this act for sure.
I blink rapidly to get a grip on what had just happened to me.
I turn my attention back to the glass case, which is already empty.
No smoke.
No form.
No shape.
Nothing.
Just a transparent box.
“Is there a problem?” a tall man arrives behind Ryia.
“Oh, hi Artair, no, there’s nothing wrong. I’ve just been looking for this girl to introduce her to you.”
The witch turns to me for the newcomer’s introduction.
“This is Artair. He manages the entire library.”
He appears to be almost six feet tall. The short bangs of his jet black hair fall neatly over his semi-rimmed eyeglasses sitting on his perfect nose bridge. The sharp eyes underneath the spectacles contribute to the whole strict professor vibe he seems to be going for.
He’s wearing a light yellow polo shirt beneath a caramel vest, and his black flannel trousers complement his light brown monk-type dress shoes.
Ryia continued, “He needs a hand in maintaining this enormous place. So, from now on, you’ll be working under him.”
I’m sorry, what?
I can’t help but gawk, this sudden proclamation that seems to be a final decision that needed no input from me. Never mind the fact that it’s my life.
Work under him?
“Pleasure to meet you, Liliwen,” he said the words but his face and flat voice told a very different story. Don’t worry old man; the feeling is mutual.
I glance down at his outstretched hand then back at Ryia whose eyes have not left my face for a second, before reaching out to accept it.
This is one fancy-ass prison if you ask me. She’s really not going to give me room to breathe, is she?
I somehow manage to give Artair an amiable smile from my repertoire of falsehood, in an effort to look even remotely accepting of the circumstances as they’re presented.
“The two of you are going get along just great,”
Are we?
“You both share that ridiculous interest in burying your noses into books and texts and blah-di-blah-blah. A boring hobby if you ask me.”
Nobody asked you, sis.
The man seems utterly unaffected by her attitude. He simply nods in my direction before turning back to Ryia.
“You should go. You don’t want to be late, do you?” His voice remains flat. I suppose that has nothing to do with me after all.
“Oh, right!” Ryia turns to me, “You best behave yourself. I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.”
With that, her boots echo through the empty library hall as she makes a brisk walk through the double door.
“Follow me.”
That’s it. That’s all he says.
I can already tell this is going to be a painful ordeal.
I let the door close on its own and follow him around.
“Storage,” he points to a room on the right of us as we walk past and I want to throw myself over the rails.
Am I meant to endure this nonsense all day? Just how long does Ms. Ryia expect me to “work under” this plank of a man with the personality of a piece of gum. Dear god! I feel like I’m being tortured, not protected. He sounds like a mindless robot programmed to speak in a very limited human vocabulary.
Perhaps… hmm… I wonder.
At least, Zoren had more to say than him.
“Organise the books,” the brief command got my attention. His stare at a particular row of bookshelves was the only clue as to which books he so curtly ordered me to organise.
“O-okay.”
I went to check what was so wrong with the order the books were already in, and I was about to ask him, but he was suddenly gone when I turned back to speak to him.
Shaking my head, I start pulling the books from the shelf to try and “sort them”.
There’s nothing wrong with the order. He could have at least put some effort into Ryia’s weak attempt to have someone can guard me for her went about her day.
She might be meeting the Minister of Defense to report about the events of last night.
Will she tell him how Bran disobeyed them?
But it doesn’t matter anymore, does it?
Bran is already dead.
Although, she can use his betrayal as justification for her actions.
I froze at the thought. My gaze absent-mindedly lingered at the row of thick books in front of me.
It wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for me. Ryia may have dealt the final blow, but they died because of me.
That’s enough, Lili. You’re still alive. You need to figure out why these men died in the first place. Stop moping around and seize this opportunity that lay before you. My strict companion has returned, and she’s right.
Having a job like this would make it easier to gain access to referen
ce materials that could give me clues about what the heck is going on.
Ryia might be trying to keep me away from the truth but doesn’t realize that she has done quite the opposite.
I’ll gather Artair’s books, and I’ll read a few of them while I’m at it. One particular cover caught my attention. History of the World
I remember the floating images I saw earlier in the glass case.
What was that about?
It was like another dream. My mind goes back to the dream I had in the mansion. In the first place, I heard her voice as she spoke to Bran. I remember vivid scenes of the dream that came to me before midnight of my birthday and the blond enigma that spoke to me in the darkness of the mansion.
Something tells me there’s more to them than I think.
Perhaps, they’re fragments of my memories returning.
If that’s so then, that would mean I have something to do with this ritual for the world called Paradise? Why would that memory be wiped if it’s so important? Didn’t Ryia keep the important memories?
What was it that the lady said? The ritual was incomplete?
I have so many questions.
I have to know more about this Paradise, the ritual, and the gate.
That’s what I’ll do here… I’ll try to find anything that may help me uncover the things I have lost and lead myself back to my truth.
****
I lost track of time.
There was an overwhelming amount of information in the books I found, and they all talked about ‘Paradise’, a world without sorrow and grief.
Utopia.
It seemed a lot of people had already attempted to gain entrance to this world, but their efforts all ended in vain. I looked for any records about the ritual the mysterious lady mentioned. I browsed the texts to find any kind of clues that would tell me anything about what it was. But my search was futile and frustratingly so.
After a few hours, I decided to stop the investigation and do what I was asked to do. It’s rather strange that I haven’t seen him since he left me here. Isn’t he supposed to be monitoring me?
Who says he isn’t?
I recall the show Bran, and I watched Ryia and the Minister of Defense.
They could be watching me right now.
I hope my book selections were random enough to not be suspicious… except I’ve only been reading about one thing for the last few hours.
Damn it Liliwen. You should have thought about that before.
Hopefully, Artair or whoever is running surveillance has the brightness of moonless midnight and missed it. God, I hope so.
I busy myself, organising the books in alphabetical order. There appeared to be some missing books. From the very brief speech Artair gave, I gathered that the records of books are kept in the storage department. I suppose it couldn’t hurt to go down and try to find them.
So, I strolled along the silent halls and corridors, with my sneakers squelching along the concrete floor. There was no one there to shush me because there was no one there to be disturbed. I should probably ask Ryia about that. Would that give me away? I don’t see how?
In my distraction, I find myself walking in circles, and when I finally stop moving, much to my horror, I realize that I’m lost. Everything looks exactly the same and nothing is labelled. I can’t tell which way to go.
I wish there were someone else around to ask.
Screaming for Artair would certainly earn me an earful from him for disturbing the eerie ‘peace’ of the place.
Come on, Lili, think!
****
I was hoping I could at least bump into Artair in my desperate search for the storage unit, but it felt like the more I walked, the bigger the room became.
I should’ve asked for a map from Artair.
This may very well be the reason no one comes here.
Once you get in, you can’t find your way out even if your life depended on it. It was an elaborately decorated, well-stocked trap.
One left turn had changed my fate. Lady Luck finally smiled upon me as I stare at the familiar door at the end of the corridor with a fading sign.
Storage Room
Oh, thank heavens!
I stopped in front of it for a few minutes to catch my breath.
The doorknob was cold in my hand as I twist it open.
Before I was able to open the door fully, there was a loud sound of something falling coming from inside.
I wasn’t able to move my hand on the knob as horrible thoughts fill my mind. My heart thumped loudly in my chest as my mind begins to conjure up all the worst possibilities of what awaited me behind the door. My gut tells me to turn and run away. Screw the records.
But I know that’s not what I want to do. I steeled my nerves and proceeded to open the door fully.
The musty darkness welcomed me. I couldn’t make out anything inside.
There was another loud sound of something dropping hard on the floor.
Pale hands emerged from the darkness and pulled me in. I heard the door shut with a bang behind me.
What have I gotten myself into this time?
The faint scent of the fabric encircling me is vaguely familiar. The strong chest pressing against my body shook as a soft chuckle escapes this unknown person’s lips.
I slowly opened my eyes to see my new captor. I thought the room would still be dark.
I was wrong.
It was bright.
Bright enough to show me the torn boxes in the corner, the scattered and toppled books around, the cobwebs hanging from the ceiling, the opened hatch on the floor, and the person who pulled me into his arms.
Tears stung my widened eyes.
Pale skin, gold eyes, and a casual grin.
“Darling, I know I’m gorgeous, but you don’t have to gawk at me,” his voice drew the tears right out of me and I instinctively step back, covering my mouth as I stare at the impossibility before me.
Is this another one of those dreams?
Am I going crazy again?
“H-how?” My whole body is trembling.
Is this real? Please be real.
The man approaches me with slow, light steps. A gentle smile formed in his pink lips.
“You’re not the only one who can come back to life, you know. That’d be pretty unfair, don’t you think, Lili?”
“B-bran?” my shaking hand reaches for his handsome face. I didn’t think I would ever see this face again. I need to be sure that he’s real and not just another figment of my messed up imagination. His skin was cold to the touch and the amused twinkle in his eyes as he watches me check to be sure that he’s the appropriate amount of undead, tugs at my heart.
“How did this happen?” I gasped.
“As I said, you’re not the only one. Though, honestly, this time, the master did all the work,” he shrugged.
“The master?”
I didn’t see him back in the mansion. I never saw him once in the brief duration that I was there.
“Yeah. The master,” the devious grin I saw so much of in the last few days dances across his face.
His eyes shift from my face and fixes on something or someone behind me, and I suddenly remember where I am.
Did Astair find us?
“Speak of the devil, and he shall come,” Bran nods.
When I turn around, my eyes meet the azure sky of his eyes. His pale yellow hair looks softer than I imagined it would be as they fall just above his thin brows. The top button of his neatly ironed blue shirt is undone, exposing his collarbones and his left-hand rests inside the pocket of his smooth trousers.
If Bran is gorgeous, this guy is on a whole other level.
He looks very familiar.
“Liliwen, don’t be shocked, okay?” the vampire held my shoulders and turned me to him.
I could see the mischievousness creeping in his smile.
“We’re here to… how did that guardian witch put it? Oh right. We’re here to kidnap you again.”<
br />
The lights suddenly went out and were seeped into total darkness once again before I slowly slip into unconsciousness.
Chapter 4
A Piece of the Past
“Pathetic little Catalyst Witch.”
The mocking words coming from a child standing right in front of me forces me to open my eyes. Three boys are standing across from a little girl, with clenched fists, knitted brows, and looks of unmistakable hatred and disgust on their faces.
The little girl is wearing a red shirt that speaks of the harsh encounter she’s had with these boys. There’s a long gash above her eye and on her cheek as well as smears of dirt all over her face. Her torn ragged pants expose her tiny legs that also bore bruises. She looks to be around nine or ten years old, yet these bruises look as though she’s gone to war.
One of the boys who looks much older than her picks up a stone and throws it to her.
From where I stand, I flinch as the rock sails in her direction, but she stays fixed with the hardest determination glaring in her eyes. The stone misses, and the boy frowns.
“Why don’t you just die, you piece of trash?”
One of the boys dressed in a blue shirt and brown pants digs the ground with his hand to get a handful of wet dirt.
He looks like he could be no more than seven or eight. Who taught him to hate like this?
Anger, bred from the desire to protect this poor little girl burns inside me as the group laughs when the dirt hits her face.
With a huff, she roughly wipes it off with the back of her hand and continues to glare at them silently.
Why isn’t she doing anything?
Fight back! I want to scream at her, but she doesn’t hear me. My words bounce off the glass barrier around me as I continue to watch from a distance, this great tragedy.
She doesn’t take any nearby stone or dirt to hurl at them. She doesn’t shout anything in her defence.
Instead, she only stands there in a kind of frustration that mirrors mine.
I can’t move from my spot to intervene. I can’t hug this brave little girl or shield her from all these horrific things
Witch's Cursed Circle Complete Collection Page 9