The Book Long Forgotten

With a tiny splash the droplet hit the page, causing the ancient ink to run in tiny rivers.

He blinked and looked up as he ran a hand over his forehead; he had been sweating. How long had he been reading? He looked down at the dusty tome and realized he must have been 3,000 pages in. He had only opened the book and glanced at the first page a moment ago, hadn’t he?

It was then that he realized he was starving, but moreover, his tongue was sandpaper. How long had he been here reading? He reached for the cover to close the book and noticed that his fingers were caked in blood. Hesitantly, he lifts them to examine them. His nails were cracked and broken, blood dried between and under the pieces.

He slowly moved his hand away and rested it on the table trying to gather his thoughts. It was then that he noticed the unevenness of the surface. He raised his hand and looked in horror at the images he had idly carved.

What evil had he been reading? He looked again to the book and turned the page.

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