Page 10 of The Flesh Remembers

Eleanor stood amidst the storm of flickering shadows and electric whispers in the laboratory, her breath shallow as the galvanic apparatus thrummed with life. The air was tense, a wicked, forbidden promise that crept under her skin, tightening around her heart. Sparks leapt from brass coils, casting brief flashes across the faces around her: Dr. Ambrose Fairfax, his hands trembling slightly as he lovingly adjusted the wires; Nurse Marian Collins, her pale features betraying dread and curiosity as she prepared her serums; Assistant Edgar Frye, pacing with barely-contained fury, his gaze flicking between Eleanor and James with contempt; and Lord Blackwood, cloaked in shadow, his piercing gaze pinning Eleanor with the intensity of a predator sizing up its prey.

James lay bound at the dais, his once-vital body now a grotesque echo of life. The marks of decay were undeniable: the sickly pallor of his flesh, the blackened tips of his fingers, the way his limbs had stiffened into a grotesque rigidity. Yet Eleanor’s entire being vibrated with an almost unholy anticipation. She didn’t care about the decay. It was proof of her power; of the boundaries she had already shattered. Tonight, she would bring him back, he would once again be as he was. Loving, devoted, hers.

Dr. Fairfax’s voice was clipped and sharp, his words slicing through the tension like a scalpel.

“Eleanor, the apparatus feeds on intensity. Every emotion, every desire. You must let it consume you.”

Fairfax had said the device measured resonance, but sometimes, Eleanor wondered if it did more than that. Some nights, it felt like it was recording her, rewriting her.

Her fingers fluttered, kindled by an ember of hope, as she adjusted the silver disk around her neck. Its vibrations warmed her skin, a pulse of possibility. It felt like a chain, binding her not to James, but to the machinery, the ritual, and Blackwood. She stole a glance toward the shadows, where Blackwood watched her with an expression of equal parts amusement and hunger. Her body ached with the bruises he had left, the remnants of his earlier "preparations" to heighten her emotional state. She could still hear his voice, low and mocking: If you are to bring him back, you must break yourself first.

Blackwood stepped forward now, his voice dripping with a stern authority.

“You’ve prepared yourself, Eleanor. Show him your devotion. Show all of us.”

Her gaze locked on James. His lifeless form was both terrifying and magnetic. She needed him back, no matter the cost. She could not live without his love, without his touch. The memory of his touch haunted her, possessive, consuming, alive. She wanted that touch again, even if it meant dragging him from the depths of hell itself.

Frye's voice sliced through her reverie, low, guttural, and seething with contempt. "You're dragging yourself into the pit with him," he growled, each word bristling like a wolf's snarl. "Do you even know what you're waking up? Look at him! He's rotting, Eleanor. A shell. A corpse."

She turned to Frye, surprised by his outburst.

“That’s not for you to decide.”

Frye’s gaze burned into her.

“It’s not about me. You’re tearing yourself apart for this... thing. Why? Love? Power? What’s it going to get you?”

His words struck deep as she turned them over in her mind. Power? No, it was love, only love that fuelled this obsession. Only love took her to the edge of every ideal and virtue she had ever held dear. It didn’t matter. She wanted James, and she would have him.

“I can’t turn back now, surely you see that,”

Eleanor said softly to Frye as he glared at her.

“I’ve come too far, and we’ve seen that it worked. That was proof that we could do it and bring him back. Don’t you want the process to work?”

Eleanor was almost pleading with him now, hoping that somehow Frye would see how important this was to her.

“I don’t bloody care if it works," Frye snarled, grabbing her arm. His grip was rough, but his voice cracked around the edges. "This is just a job to me, but you? You’re softer, Eleanor. It’ll tear you apart." Frye reached his hand to her face as if he meant to touch her cheek, but he stopped himself just before his fingers grazed her skin.

The two stood silently staring at one another for a moment, and perhaps some sort of understanding lurked in the silence. Eleanor might have been convinced to give up this folly had Blackwood not stepped in when he did.

“Frye, get back to your work immediately. Enough of these delays. Eleanor has made her decision, and you wouldn’t want all that she went through earlier tonight to be in vain, now, would you?”

Frye took a step back, his dark eyes boring into Eleanor. A knowing look filtered across his face as he looked again between Eleanor and Blackwood. Then, with a bitter laugh, he turned his back and returned to his station next to Dr. Fairfax.

Frye made no more attempts to delay the process. He concentrated solely on his work, throwing the switch and plunging the laboratory into chaos. The coils hissed, spitting electric arcs into the air, illuminating the room in violent flashes of blue and white. Marian approached James with trembling hands, plunging the needle into his vein with clinical precision. The serum inside glowed faintly, an unholy concoction designed to defy nature.

Dr. Fairfax turned to Eleanor.

“Voltage is live. Attach the leads.”

Her hands shook as she affixed the electrodes to her forearms, collarbone, and temples as Dr. Fairfax had instructed her earlier. Each connection buzzed with an almost erotic intensity, heightening her senses until every nerve in her body felt aflame. The silver disk at her throat pulsed in time with her quickening heartbeat. When she placed her hand on James’s chest, the cold stillness of his flesh sent a chill of fear through her body, but with that fear there was also hope.

The current surged, and Eleanor shuddered. Pain lanced through her body, so sharp it brought tears to her eyes, but with it came a pleasure so profound it left her trembling. The apparatus fed on her grief, her yearning, and her twisted devotion. She let it take everything, pouring herself into the circuit between them.

James’s body convulsed violently. The veins beneath his skin darkened, twisting like black roots. A guttural sound tore from his throat, raw and animalistic. Eleanor’s heart leapt.

"James?" she whispered, leaning closer, her voice quivering with a raw, unspoken ache.

His eyelids fluttered, his fingers twitching as though trying to remember how to move. Then, with a shuddering arch of his back, he gasped, his chest heaving as life tore through him. His eyes opened, bloodshot and wild, and locked onto hers. Recognition flickered, but it was laced with something darker, something wrong.

“E-El-Elea-nor,”

he rasped, his voice cracked and guttural.

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she cupped his face, ignoring the cold, clammy texture of his skin. She didn’t care. He was here. He was hers.

“I’m here,”

she whispered, her voice breaking.

“I’ll always be here.”

But his gaze wasn’t only tender. There was a hunger to it. Something almost predatory. His lips parted, revealing teeth that seemed sharper than they should have been.

“It... burns,”

he growled, his tone dripping with pain and something far more sinister.

“I need... more…”

As Eleanor stared at the facsimile of her fiancé, a fleeting scene tugged at the corners of her memory.

The day that James and Eleanor graduated from medical school as full-fledged doctors was the happiest of their lives. They had both worked very hard to get to that moment where their name was called out as doctor. James and Eleanor had been there for one another through all the sleepless nights, stressful exams, headaches, and strained eyes. It was after they had finished the graduation ceremony and were walking back to Eleanor’s house down the quiet tree-lined street with the rows of identical gray townhouses. James grabbed Eleanor’s hand and pulled her to a stop.

“I wanted to say something to you but haven’t found the right time today,”

James said, taking her face into his hands.

“Perhaps I should wait until another day, but I can’t wait anymore.”

“James, what is it?”

Eleanor said, a hint of worry darkening her brow.

“I love you, Eleanor Ashcroft, more than I ever thought it possible to love someone. I think I have loved you since the moment you threatened to gut me with your scalpel in the anatomy lab.”

Eleanor laughed, her hands reaching out and snaking around James’ waist, pulling him closer.

“I love you, too,”

she said, the words sounding so alien to her, yet at the same time, there was an unmistakable comfort to them. Like a memory long forgotten that suddenly resurfaces, and you wonder how it was you ever could have forgotten it in the first place.

Eleanor’s heart tightened as if in a vice at the sweetness of those first whispered declarations of love that had passed between them not so long ago. And now, he was returning from death, so similar yet so different.

“More voltage,”

Dr. Fairfax barked, shaking with authority and panic. The current surged higher, and Eleanor’s body arched involuntarily, caught in the electric storm. Pain and pleasure warred within her, leaving her unsteady and consumed by its raw force. She leaned closer to James, her breath mingling with his as the apparatus pulled her deeper into its grip.

James strained against the restraints, his hands clawing at the air. “Eleanor,”

he groaned, his voice low and desperate.

“I need... you.”

Heat flared through her, raw and overwhelming. Blackwood’s voice drifted from the shadows, deceptively gentle.

“He craves you, Eleanor. Give him what he needs.”

Revulsion flickered briefly but love and desire drowned it. Eleanor leaned down, her lips brushing James’s in a feral and consuming kiss. His response was immediate, his mouth devouring hers with a hunger that bordered on violence. The spark of the apparatus seemed to pass between them, lighting her nerve endings on fire.

Her hands roamed his chest, feeling the grotesque blend of muscle and decay beneath her fingers. His cold tongue slid against hers, bitter and electric, sending a shudder down her spine. The rods above flared brighter, the electricity crackling like a storm. James moaned into her mouth, his body bucking against hers as though trying to claim her completely.

James gripped a handful of her black silken hair within his death grip. His fingers tinged with rot and decay mercilessly yanked her head back, exposing her throat to him. A grotesque mockery of James’s once gentle smile played upon his cracked lips. He bent his head towards hers and bit the tender white flesh of her throat. The bite did not break the skin, though it did leave a mark on her delicate neck. But Eleanor was beyond caring. The unnatural, obsessive passion that had possessed her previously returned once again, driving out any thought but release. She wanted him, now, as he was. She did not feel horror or revulsion now, just an unbearable lustful hunger that must be fed.

James groaned as his tongue snaked its way up Eleanor’s neck, then back to her mouth. Gone was the sweet gentleness of her lover’s mouth, leaving only the taste of the grave upon her lips. But it did not matter. She had to have him. She had to be one with him again.

James roughly caressed Eleanor’s cheek, his cold, dead hand sending a shiver down her spine, but she arched against him, silently begging him for more. She would have him right here, right now, in front of everyone. It did not matter to her. The unnatural arousal and passion stirring within her would be sated. She felt her body was moving and reacting independently, and she had no control over it now. The pendant at her throat seemed to almost purr in satisfaction, warming her neck with gentle pulses of heat.

James slipped two of his black tipped fingers into Eleanor’s mouth, forcing them against the back of her throat. He held a firm grip around her neck with the other hand. A twisted smile contorted James’s face as he began to roughly move his fingers in and out of Eleanor’s mouth while squeezing her neck ever so slightly tighter and tighter. Eleanor moaned wantonly as she sucked James’s fingers with abandon. She knew somewhere abstractly in her mind that this display was not proper or normal and that she should stop, but those thoughts were gossamer clouds so far away that she could not hold onto them.

When she finally pulled away, panting, she stared at him in horror and fascination. His veins had blackened entirely, snaking across his body like an intricate web of corruption. His nails had lengthened into sharp, claw-like points, and his lips were tinged with an unnatural gray. Yet his eyes burned with predatory intensity, and his smile was sharp, almost cruel. But yet, despite these horrific changes in him, there was the tiny seed of her James still somewhere within him. She could see it in his eyes when she spoke his name. The recognition that the sound of her voice stirred within him.

“You brought me back,”

he rasped, his voice a guttural growl.

“You’re mine, my Ellie, you belong to me.”

Her body tensed at his words, torn between fear and a twisted need to surrender. “Yes,”

she whispered, the word spilling from her lips like a confession.

“I’m yours.”

Frye’s voice ripped through the moment, ragged and wild.

“This isn’t right! He’s not even human!”

he barked, raw desperation clawing at every word.

“We got to end this before he tears us all to pieces!

Blackwood stepped forward, his presence a dark force that seemed to consume the room. “No,”

he hissed, his voice menacing in its stillness.

“We’ve gone too far to stop now. Let her finish.”

Frye lunged for the lever, his hand shaking.

“You’ll kill us all! Look at him!”

The laboratory was in chaos. Sparks flew as Frye yanked the lever, cutting the current. James’s body convulsed violently, his eyes rolling back as the spark of life began to drain away. Eleanor screamed, throwing herself against Frye to stop him from ending the session prematurely.

“No! You’re killing him!”

“I’m saving us!”

Frye shouted, pushing her back.

James’s lips parted, a faint, broken whisper escaping: “Eleanor...”

His eyes fluttered shut, and his body went limp once more. Eleanor collapsed onto him, her sobs racking her body as the room descended into uneasy silence.

Blackwood’s voice was venomous, cutting through the stillness.

“You robbed us of everything,”

he snarled at Frye.

Frye’s glare was unyielding.

“You’ll damn us all.”

Eleanor clung to James’s lifeless form, her mind racing. She wouldn’t stop. No matter the cost, she would bring him back. The memory of his touch, kiss, and claim on her body and soul burned within her. This was not the end. It could not be the end.

A pained shudder rattled James’s frame, and a final, convulsive inhalation parted his lips. His eyes fluttered open one last time, meeting Eleanor’s gaze with a mixture of longing and terror.

“El… eanor…”

he groaned, heartbreak saturating the single word.

In that moment, she yearned to freeze time, let him speak, and hear his pleas or confessions. But the apparatus sputtered, the arcs of electricity collapsing into faint sparks. James’s eyelids sank shut, his head lolling against the dais. A hush stole across the lab as his body went limp once more, a lifeless husk returning to stillness.

“No!”

Eleanor cried, voice raw. She clutched his shoulders, tears spilling over. Around her, the staff stood in uneasy silence, Dr. Fairfax’s expression tight with pity, Nurse Collins blinking back tears of her own. Blackwood exhaled, turning on Frye with a venomous glare.

“You robbed us of the final push,” he spat.

Frye’s features remained defiant, his breath coming fast, his eyes wide and glaring.

Overcome by grief and adrenaline, Eleanor sank to her knees beside the dais. She pressed her face to James’s cold chest, willing him to respond, to open his eyes again. But no flicker remained; the necromantic spark had fled.

Excerpt from the diary of Dr. Eleanor Ashcroft

James spoke my name. I still can’t fathom how it’s possible, but I heard it, rough, broken, and twisted beyond recognition. Yet it was he. His voice. His life, fragile and fleeting, clawing its way back for just one breath. And then it was gone, snatched away again, as quickly as it came.

To witness him die a second time; to watch the light drain from his eyes once more, it felt like a knife to my soul. Frye’s words filled the room, his claims that this process is corrupting us all, but they mean nothing to me now. After seeing James awaken, after hearing him say my name, corruption no longer matters. It’s a hollow concept, insignificant in the face of bringing him back. I would endure ruin, chaos, and even damnation if it meant having James here again.

Fairfax promises we’ll try again, and I can barely contain the storm inside me. Hope battles dread, tearing at me with claws. What if it fails? What if that single fleeting moment was all I’ll ever have? The thought of losing him forever after glimpsing his return it’s unbearable. But worse still is the other fear. What if it works? What would that mean for him, for us? James wouldn’t be the same, and neither would I. And yet, even knowing that, I can’t stop. I won’t stop. Because if there’s even a sliver of a chance to bring him back, I must seize it.

A Sacrifice of Body, Blood, and Dignity

Eleanor stood outside the door to the ceremony chamber. She had a vague idea of what would happen on the other side of the door, and she hesitated. Could she abandon everything she had ever believed in, the morals and decorum of regular society, just for the slight chance of cheating death? She thought of James then, sweet, loving James, who made her laugh and ignited her passion. Her best friend and her only lover. Yes, she thought, she could do all that and more. Pushing open the doors, she stepped into the chamber.

The room breathed with power, as if its walls thrummed with an ancient awareness. The air was laden with incense, swirling in intoxicating waves, yet beneath it lingered something far darker, metallic, and electric essence that seemed to crackle just out of reach. Shadows writhed on the walls, alive and unsettling, born of countless candle flames that danced with unnatural vigour. The light and dark shifted together, an interplay that felt less random and more deliberate, as though the room itself observed, whispered, and waited.

Blackwood had given Eleanor a summary of the special ritual to happen tonight, and even the mere description of the events brought a scarlet stain to her cheeks. Could she do this, witness this? Could she walk deeper into this forest of perverse science and mystical rituals?

“Surely such things are not necessary,”

Eleanor had croaked out after Blackwood had explained the ceremony. She touched her flaming cheek and noticed Blackwood’s amused smile as he watched her. There was a hunger in his eyes, as if he enjoyed watching her fall further and further away from the light.

“Of course it’s necessary, Eleanor," Blackwood said, his voice as smooth as the shadows enveloping them. "True resurrection demands both science and magic. Each alone is incomplete, missing the spark, the balance, the brilliance required to triumph over death itself." His gaze lingered on Eleanor, sharp and unyielding. "Fairfax and I were wandering in darkness on our own. But when I discovered his experiments, his ingenious use of electricity, I realized he was the missing piece. The one man who could help me reshape the very fabric of life."

Blackwood paused, a faint smile playing at his lips, as if savouring the weight of his words: "Together, we crafted something extraordinary, a perfect atmosphere for the process to flourish—a symphony of power, precision, and ambition."

Blackwood seemed almost giddy, a look close to mania lighting his eyes. This frightened Eleanor but also sparked that hope again that this would work and James would be fully restored. After all, for something like this to succeed, it would require a sort of mania, and both Fairfax and Blackwood seemed to take their parts into obsession.

Now, at the chamber's door, Eleanor sucked in her breath and held her head high as Blackwood opened the oak door and ushered her inside. The participants were already in motion; their bodies entwined in acts of ritualistic ecstasy. Gasps and moans filled the space, blending with the low hum of chanting.

Eleanor watched wide-eyed as two robed figures pushed another to their knees. They pulled the hood of the robe back to reveal a pale woman with strawberry blonde curls. As Eleanor watched, the two other figures began to draw the robe from the rest of her body. Surprisingly, the woman was completely nude beneath the robe, which Eleanor suspected most of the participants were.

The other figures quickly shed their robes revealing two men, their cocks hard and at attention as they positioned themselves on either side of the woman. Eleanor blushed at the sight of the naked men. She had never seen a man unclothed besides James, and she felt terrible guilt over the tingling arousal she began to feel between her legs. She should not desire any man but James, and yet here, in this dreadful place, her desires had consumed her unnaturally and terrifyingly. Eleanor feared she would not be able to contain herself.

Lord Blackwood stood at the centre of it all, his presence commanding, his dark eyes locking onto Eleanor’s as she entered.

“Tonight, we will call him back. But only if you’re prepared to give more than you ever imagined.”

Blackwood all but growled at her as he motioned for her to stand beside him.

“I-I… I’m ready,”

Eleanor replied slowly, trying desperately to steady her voice.

“Are you?”

he asked, stepping closer. His fingers brushed her chin, tilting her head up.

“You’ve sacrificed your body, your blood, even your dignity. But tonight’s ritual demands a different kind of offering that will stain your soul.”

Her stomach twisted, but she nodded.

“I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“First, our members will continue with the initiatory. Each ritual we do begins this way. It heightens the hunger and lust that is needed for our work.”

“What work is that?”

Eleanor asked incredulously, her eyes wide. She had to put up with these strange, unnatural rituals for now because they were a means to an end. But that did not mean she felt good about it or believed that this group was a part of anything good or right.

“Our rituals call upon ancient magics, using dark arts to satisfy our desires. We can procure wealth, power, and status. Anything you like, my dear Dr. Ashcroft.”

Blackwood smiled at her in such a way that Eleanor felt as though ice water flowed through her veins.

“Come,”

he said, taking her elbow and guiding her to a small sofa in the corner.

“Sit here and watch the proceedings. I think you will find it helpful for what will come next.”

He smirked at her as he sat beside her on the sofa, his hungry eyes glued to her.

Eleanor felt the heat whip across her cheeks, a scorching wind burning with the sting of vulnerability. She could not help it, though she did not like to give Blackwood the satisfaction of any reaction. Her eyes widened as she found the trio she had spotted earlier.

The woman with the lovely strawberry blonde hair was now on her hands and knees, moaning wantonly as she begged the two men for release. One man grabbed a handful of that shining hair and yanked her head back forcefully.

“Do you want to be fucked?”

He hissed at her. The woman moaned loudly, crying out, “Yes, yes, please!”

“I don’t believe you!”

He laughed, letting her head drop. The other man was behind her, his fingers slipping into her wetness and finding her swollen clit and rubbing it slowly.

“Please!”

the woman cried, pushing back against the other man’s hand. Eleanor could see the woman was shaking with desire, and she felt a similar feeling within herself as well and could feel the wetness between her legs coating the inside of her thighs.

The first man grabbed the woman’s hair again, but this time brought his rock-hard cock to her lips.

“Open for me, like a good girl,”

the man said to her softly. The woman obediently opened her mouth, and Eleanor watched as the large member was thrust inside her waiting mouth. The woman’s head began to bob up and down and she sucked the cock, while the other man behind her grabbed both of her arms and held them behind her back with one hand and grabbed a fistful of her hair with the other as he watched her with a lustful smile on his face.

“Oh, you are such a filthy whore!’ the first man cried out as she used her mouth on him, her lips and tongue moving over his thick, hard cock. The woman moaned against his cock as if she relished the names he called her.

“I’m coming, whore, I’m coming!”

The man seized her face in his hands to steady himself as ropes and ropes of his seed filled her waiting and eager mouth. As he was filling her mouth he told her firmly, “don’t you dare swallow that come, whore!”

Once he was satiated, he pulled his cock from her mouth and looked down at her with a satisfied smile.

The woman was on her hands and knees, still, her mouth full of his hot come as she had obediently done as he instructed.

The other man then yanked her head backwards again and kissed her deeply, the seed filling her mouth now filling the man’s and mingling between them as it dripped down both of their chins.

The first man had set himself on the floor next to her and pulled her backwards into his lap, pinning her arms behind her and yanking her legs open and pushing them open as wide as possible with his legs.

The second man crawled forward and let some of the juices from his mouth spill down between her legs, where it was already wet and swollen, adding to the lubrication.

The man behind her began using his fingers to rub between her legs; his own her sensitive clit, the juices spilled from the second man’s mouth mingling together with hers.

The woman moaned louder, panting, her head tossing from side to side as she seemed on the verge of complete collapse.

The second man then kneeled in front of her and lined up his thick, hard cock with her entrance and in one deep thrust was inside her.

They both cried out again and again as he began to thrust in and out in a frenzy.

The other man continued to rub her from behind, and it was not long before the woman was screaming out as her release flooded her body, shaking her violently.

The man penetrating her followed suit very soon after, crying out as he shot his essence deep into her, thrusting as hard as he possibly could, all the while.

And then the three were silent, collapsing onto one another in a tangle of sweat-covered flesh, sticky with the remnants of their desire.

“All right, my dear, I think the time is right.”

Blackwood smiled and rose from the couch, leading her to the crimson-draped dais at the chamber's centre. The participants began to move from their activities to form a circle around them, their eyes gleaming with anticipation.

“Strip,”

he commanded.

Eleanor hesitated, her hands trembling and her mouth dry. It was one thing to witness, to observe the perversity, but it was another to become a willing participant. She concentrated her thoughts on James and being with him once again. She thought of the chance they might have for a life together. Children, a home, happiness. It was all she had ever wanted, but to do this? Debase herself like this in front of the greedy eyes of strangers? It was too much.

“I-I can’t do this,”

Eleanor cried as she turned and began to rush towards the door.

“Dr. Ashcroft,”

Blackwood called to her, his voice steady and unbothered.

“No one will force you to do anything here. You are, of course, free to go. But I just want you to realize what you are giving up. We must abandon the project if you cannot perform the ceremonies necessary to facilitate the resurrection process. Your James will have to be returned to the grave to rot.”

Eleanor turned to look at Blackwood. He confidently leaned against the stone wall, one hand casually toying with the buttons on his coat.

“Is that what you want?”

His smile was deceptive and secretive. There was so much hidden behind that smile, but Eleanor could not deny the power of his words. She couldn’t let James return to the grave after coming this far for him.

Yes, she could do it. She would do it. Eleanor took a deep, ragged breath and untied her robe's sash. The fabric slid from her shoulders, pooling at her feet.

Gasps rippled through the crowd at the sight of Eleanor’s white, unblemished flesh, followed by murmurs of approval.

“Lie down,”

Blackwood instructed, his voice a sharp contrast to the reverent silence that followed.

She climbed onto the dais, the cool velvet pressing against her bare skin.

The chanting intensified as the participants moved closer, their hands reaching out to her. Fingers brushed her arms, her thighs, her stomach. Lips followed, pressing kisses to her skin, their warmth igniting sparks of sensation wherever they touched.

She felt herself dissolving under their hands, her body responding instinctively to their touches. Someone’s mouth closed over her nipple, their tongue circling before teeth grazed her, sending a jolt of pleasure through her. Another pair of hands gripped her hips, spreading her thighs as a mouth pressed against the sensitive skin there.

The pleasure was overwhelming, a tide that carried her further from herself with every passing moment.

But then the chanting shifted, the rhythm slower, more deliberate. Blackwood raised a hand, and the participants froze, their touches lingering but still.

“It’s time,” he said.

Two robed figures stepped forward, each carrying a small bundle swaddled in black silk. Eleanor’s breath caught as they placed the bundles on either side of her. When they unwrapped them, her stomach churned.

Lying before her were two small effigies, crudely carved from bone and wood. Their faces were twisted and grotesque, bound with red thread and covered in strange markings.

“These are more than symbols,”

Blackwood said, his voice echoing in the chamber.

“They are vessels waiting to be filled. One will hold the spark of your love, the power that will tether James to this world. The other…”

His lips curved into a dark smile.

“The other will receive what remains. Pain, grief, rage. The darkness you carry inside you.”

Eleanor’s chest tightened.

“You must choose, though you cannot know which vessel carries love and which carries darkness,”

Blackwood said, his voice soft but insistent.

“Which vessel will you bless, and which will you condemn?”

The chanting resumed, and the participants began their ministrations again, their hands and mouths reigniting the fire that had started to burn out. Eleanor’s body arched as pleasure overwhelmed her, but her eyes remained fixed on the effigies.

They were no longer lifeless. The red thread glowed faintly, pulsing in time with Eleanor’s heartbeat.

Blackwood leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear.

“If you choose wrong, you will shatter him. James will return broken, his spirit warped by the darkness you allowed to take root. But if you hesitate, you will lose him forever.”

Eleanor moaned as the pleasure coursing through her built to an unbearable crescendo. Her body was trembling, her vision blurring, but the weight of the decision pressed down on her like a vice.

The effigies seemed to stare at her; their hollow eyes filled with silent accusations.

Her climax tore through her with a scream, and she reached out, her fingers brushing against one of the effigies. Its glow intensified, the red thread unravelling and weaving into her hand.

The second effigy began to writhe, its features twisting into something monstrous as it absorbed the darkness pouring from her.

The room fell silent as the ritual ended, the air thick with tension. Blackwood’s gaze was unreadable as he studied her.

“You’ve made your choice,”

he said softly.

Excerpt from the Diary of Dr. Eleanor Ashcroft

I can’t justify myself anymore, not my choices or actions. I’ve sunk into a darkness I can hardly face, all for James. Why can’t I let him go? I survived losing my parents, but James is different. I can’t accept a world without him.

The truth claws at me, demanding I confront it, but I resist. If I look too closely, I might stop and stopping means losing him forever.

Blackwood’s cult has taken everything from me, marked me in ways I can’t undo. Whether souls exist or not, mine is surely damned. But none of those matters. Whatever he wants, I only care about bringing James’s back wherever this path leads.