Ziria awoke to darkness, though it wasn’t the kind that came with the night, it was a new day. This darkness clung to the edges of her vision, seeping into her mind like ink spilled across parchment, shadows creeping in through her thoughts. The air felt heavy, pressing down on her chest, and for a moment she lay still on the floor where she fell asleep, paralyzed by the weight of it all.

  Then a sound came that made her whole body jerk off the floor. The dust from all the books still lingered in the air.

  A loud, insistent banging rattled her door, cutting through the stillness and sending her heart racing. She bolted upright, the remnants of her dream clinging to her like cobwebs. Her throat was dry, her body trembling as if the shadows from her sleep still lingered. It was like she slept for years and years and years. But it was only for a few hours.

  “Miss Ziria?” The voice was muffled but desperate behind the door. Another knock, sharper this time. “Please, please, I really need your help!”

  Dragging herself from the floor, Ziria picked herself up and wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and moved to the door. Each step felt like wading through quicksand, the gloom inside her cottage seeming thicker, almost alive. She looked behind her at the book still laying on the floor, feeling the tug towards it still heavy in her chest.

  When she opened the door, fresh air blasted towards her, making the dust in her cottage fly out. A young woman stood on the threshold, her face pale and tear-streaked. The woman’s eyes were red-rimmed, her hands clutching a crumpled letter as if it were the only thing keeping her together. The letter shook with her every word as she spoke.

  “My father,” the woman said, her voice breaking. “He passed last night. We—he—he didn’t have time to say goodbye to anyone. Please, can you help me? Can you…” Her words faltered, but Ziria understood. This wasn't something uncommon or uncomfortable. This was her job, all that she worked for.

  The weight of the request settled on her shoulders, heavier than any grief she had gotten from a client before. Was it because of the darkness that now filled to the brim? The shadows that clouded her mind? She nodded, taking the letter gently from the woman’s trembling, thin and frail hands.

  “I’ll do what I can,” Ziria said softly. Her voice felt foreign, as if it belonged to someone else. Like she wasn’t there, nowhere and everywhere. “Not today but as soon as I am able, I will do what I can”.

  The woman hesitated as Ziria took her letter, her gaze darting nervously around the cottage’s shadowed interior, the darkness from inside. She looked frightened. “Have you also noticed it?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Ziria frowned towards her. “Noticed what?”

  “The darkness,” the woman said. “It feels… wrong. Like something is watching. People are afraid to go near the graveyard. Even the animals seem restless. It’s…” She shook her head, her voice trailing off into silence. She closed her eyes and sighed, “Something new, it is not right”.

  Ziria forced a smile, gentle, though it felt hollow. “I’m sure it’s nothing serious. The mind plays tricks in times of grief. This too will pass”.

  The woman didn’t look convinced at her words, but she nodded nonetheless, murmured her thanks, and turned to leave.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  As the door closed, Ziria leaned against it, her legs threatening to give way beneath her. She was so tired, like she hadn’t slept in days. The woman’s words echoed in her mind, mingling with the whispers from her dream. What have I done?

  She turned slowly, her eyes falling on the book still lying on the floor. It hadn’t moved, yet it seemed different now, its leather cover pulsing faintly as if it had its own heartbeat. The air around it shimmered, and Ziria felt a sickening tug in her chest, the same pull that had haunted her dreams, that had haunted her since her first encounter with the shadow. The shadow.

  She sank to her knees, her hands trembling as she reached for the book again. Her mind screaming at her not to touch it again, her body forcing itself backwards, away from it. But before she could touch it, the room seemed to darken further, shadows pooling in the corners and stretching toward her.

  And then the voice came.

  Low and guttural, it seeped from the book like smoke, curling through the air and settling in her ears. Two voices, on the same. One low and one shrieking.

  “You meddle in things you do not understand, sweet little necromancer.”

  Ziria recoiled, her breath hitching as the voice grew louder, more insistent. She crawled backwards, trying to break away from the shadow that now loomed around her, over her. Everywhere and nowhere.

  “You called me, summoned me from the veil. Do you even know what you’ve done?”

  The shadows around the room seemed to writhe, shifting like living things, crawling up her walls, her bookcases and through her doors. Ziria’s heart pounded as she scrambled back, her eyes locked on the book.

  “Who are you?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “What do you want from me?”

  The voice chuckled, a sound like dry leaves scraping across stone. Familiar.

  “Who am I? I am the echo of the grave. The whisper of the forgotten. The end of stories. You invited me into your world, sweet little necromancer. Did you think I would come without a price? You know me”.

  Ziria’s mind raced, the weight of the book’s words sinking into her like stones. She thought of the man in her dream, his shadowed silhouette, the agony in his voice. The shadow from the graveyard. The one who started all this.

  “What did you do to him?” she demanded, her voice rising. “The boy. The man. What is he to you?”

  The voice faltered for a moment, a strange silence filling the room. Its breath crackled like a low fire.

  “He is what you will become, unless you prove yourself.”

  Ziria’s blood ran cold, a realization hitting her like a heavy stone. The implications of the shadow’s words clawed at her, threatening to consume her.

  “Why me?” she whispered, tears pricking her eyes. “Why did you choose me?”

  “Because you are worthy of darkness,” the voice replied, softer now, almost reverent. “You are like him, torn between the worlds of the living and the dead. the darkness chose you, and you chose it. But you still have a choice. Take my gift, and I will show you the truth. Refuse… and you will watch your world crumble.”

  Ziria’s gaze flickered to the cursed book, its faint pulse matching the frantic rhythm of her heart. A faint glow. She felt the weight of the shadows pressing down on her, the darkness whispering promises of power and despair.

  “No,” she said, her voice firm despite the fear coursing through her veins. “I won’t let you control me.”

  The voice laughed, a hollow, mocking sound. The shrieking above the low sound, almost made a laugh of its own.

  “We shall see, my sweet little necromancer. We shall see. The gift is yours, I will wait for you”.

  The shadows receded slowly, seeping its way back into the book, the oppressive weight in the room lifting as the voice faded. Ziria was left alone yet again, trembling on the floor, her eyes wide as she watched the shadows disappear again, the cursed book silent once more. She had never been afraid of the darkness, it was a part of her, a part of her very being. But now, as the shadow creeped closer every night, she felt the unease fill her. Unease of the dark? Or herself, what she could become?

  Her mind churned with questions, her heart aching with the weight of what she had seen and heard. The man—the boy—his pain felt like her own, a thread binding them together in ways she couldn’t yet understand. The story of the boy felt closer each time she heard it, the familiarity of it weighing heavy on her bones. She was better than this, better than accepting the gift from the shadow. The gift that had cursed a boy for life, making him wither away with the shadows.

  She needed answers.

  Staring at the book, Ziria felt the faintest flicker of resolve. If the shadow thought it could manipulate her, it was wrong. She would unravel its secrets, uncover the truth behind the boy and the man he had become, could he be saved?

  And if she had to face the darkness itself to do so, then so be it. She was the darkness, and she was not afraid.