Page 5

Dani

I can’t sleep. I don’t want to toss and turn since Jules is sound asleep beside me, so I quietly roll out of bed.

The kitchen is illuminated by the moonlight peeking through my front windows. I never close my blinds. I like looking outside at the darkness. It soothes me.

I can’t stop thinking about the grimoire and necklace I found today.

With an eager urgency, I reach into my bag, retrieving the ancient book that now feels alive in my lap.

Its leather seems to shimmer in the fading moonlight.

Alongside it, I pull out the necklace, it glows faintly with an otherworldly energy.

As I examine it closely, my fingers brush against the cool metal. The temptation to slip it around my neck is strong, yet I clutch it tightly in my hand, feeling its weight and the warmth it exudes.

A strange sensation pulses through me, as if the grimoire is resonating with my very being, calling out to me in a whisper only I can hear.

This is ridiculous , I think to myself.

I sink into the plush cushions of my couch, the soft fabric cradling me as I place the book gently in my lap. I open the cover, releasing a faint, musty odor that speaks of centuries gone by.

Immediately, I see that the first page is inscribed in elegant Latin. I feel thankful I studied Latin Language and Literature during my college days.

It takes a moment for the meaning to unfurl in my mind, but as I translate the ancient words, they come alive: In a forest deep where shadows loom, under the light of the full moon, at midnight’s hour, let silence unfold, open this book to secrets untold.

But be not fooled, she who can read, must wear the jewel to fulfill the need.

Once it rests upon your neck so fine, you bind your fate to their design.

I flip through the pages further, and I am greeted by intricate incantations. Their elegant scripts dance across the fragile pages alongside vivid illustrations of runes and other mythical symbols that seem to pulse with hidden energy.

Every page is classily framed with a gold vine design that seems to dance along the edges. I gently run my thumb over the raised pattern, feeling the delicate texture beneath my fingertips as if tracing the artistry of nature itself.

“Absolutely beautiful,” I quietly whisper to myself.

The book undoubtedly holds secrets of witchcraft, and I wonder if this could really be the lost book of the Witch of Misty Hollow?

I carefully turn each page, the paper whispering as it unfurls beneath my fingertips.

I marvel at the age of this tome. Some sections are so battered that the ink has faded almost into oblivion, rendering the text nearly illegible.

Yet, certain incantations stand out, clearly inscribed in English.

Other pages are dominated by flowing Latin script, the words swirling with ancient power, waiting to be spoken.

I turn the page again, and I’m greeted by a captivating illustration that unfolds before me—three sets of striking eyes and what appears to be a woman with long hair oddly similar to mine—standing in the middle of them with her back turned.

Their faces appear to have some type of mask over them.

It’s so faded, I can hardly tell. But the colors… The colors seem vibrant still.

The first pair of eyes, a crystalline blue, seem to shimmer with an oceanic depth. Next to them, a warm, molten amber pair radiates an inviting glow, while the final set—rich, lush hazel—exudes both mystery and warmth.

A shiver of recognition dances along my spine as I trace the contours of these eyes with my fingertips. I find myself absently grazing my bottom lip with my other hand, lost in thought.

These eyes evoke a haunting familiarity, like fragments of a dream—a distant memory that feels both mine and yet entirely foreign.

The piercing blue gaze lingers in my mind, drawing me back to the man I encountered just hours earlier at the bar.

His eyes, vivid and unforgettable, seem to be staring back at me again.

It’s impossible to ignore the striking resemblance—an unsettling connection that pulls at the threads of my memory, hinting at something deeper I can’t quite grasp.

Oh, get a grip! I haven’t stopped thinking about that man since I left the bar. I will now think about him whenever I see a pair of blue eyes. What the hell is wrong with me?

The masks they wear seem to suggest a deeper significance and a story.

I flip the page of the artwork, and on the back there is an inscription in Latin that catches my eye.

The words are faded, so it may take a while to figure them out, but I will.

I am determined to decipher their meaning—though not tonight, I promise myself.

I flip back to those blue, amber, and hazel eyes again. My body shivers in response as their gazes pierce mine. My thoughts run wild as I envision myself in the drawing, and my pussy aches with need. I bite my lower lip and slide my hand beneath my pajama pants.

I am completely soaked .

I begin stroking my swollen clit as the three men from the book watch me. Tease me. I imagine the man from the bar touching me, saying my name in that deep, raspy voice.

“Mmmm,” I moan quietly.

I rest my head back on the couch and work myself faster, imagining he is feasting upon me.

With an intensity that feels almost physical, the other two pairs of eyes are fixed on me, watching with an eager fervor as he indulges in my pleasure.

I picture them touching each other as the man with blue eyes says my name against my swollen clit and makes me come.

I reach up and grab my breast as I circle my clit faster and faster. My body begins to shake violently as my thoughts carry my orgasm. My toes curl, and my body buzzes. I stifle my cries by biting my hand, so I don’t wake up Jules.

Coming down from my high, I silently laugh at how ridiculous my fantasies are.

I close the book and carefully place it under my couch, where no one will be able to stumble upon it. I feel more relaxed, so I lay down on the couch, and fall into a deep sleep.

I dream of blue, amber, and hazel...