Razeal slowly opened the Book of Eventual Evil.
The sound that followed was faint a dry rustle, like brittle leaves brushing against each other in a crypt.
Inside, the pages were an aged white, weathered and cracked at the edges. They looked ancient, older than memory itself, and even their faint yellowed glow seemed to whisper of time long buried.
A sharp, strange smell hit him immediately old paper mixed with something darker, heavier. It wasn't just the scent of age or dust. It was something foul and cold… the smell of evil or something like that he guessed since couldn't recognise otherwise.
The moment the book opened, Razeal swore he could almost hear it.
A faint wail whispers carried on an unseen wind, like the distant cries of spirits freed from long imprisonment. For an instant, he even saw dark shapes flicker across the edge of his vision ghostly silhouettes rushing out from the pages, faces twisted in agony, soaring toward him as if finally released from their cage.
