Whispers echoed through the dark, abandoned mausoleum. A circle of figures in tattered cloaks gathered around an altar, their faces half-lit by the trembling glow of candlelight. Shadows danced along the cracked marble walls, swallowing everything but the faint glimmer of wax and flame.
At the center lay a girl with black hair spilling like ink across the stone. Her skin was pale, lifeless, her chest barely rising.
"Are you sure you're doing it right?" one voice muttered.
"Yes. What do you take me for—an idiot like you?"
"What? I never said that."
"Just finish it already, you two," another snapped.
"I'm trying! But I can't understand this part…"
"What part?"
"Let me see."
A pause. Pages rustled.
"Hm. Athymía[1]?"
"What's that?"
"I don't know. First time I've seen the word."
"Hey, you three!" someone from the corner
hissed.
"Is it still not done? What if that girl wakes up?"
A few others murmured in agreement, their voices low and uneasy.
They bent over the ancient book again, tracing the faded ink and torn edges. It was barely legible—some pages missing, others blackened by age. Still, they persisted. This text, forbidden and half-forgotten, was said to bring them closer to the god they worshipped: the dark one, the nameless one whispered of only in secret.
Finally, the quietest among them stepped forward. Without a word, she took the book from trembling hands and began to read the final passage aloud
"Ho kosmos sos esti geusesthai, kai hē athymia sou akolouthēsei."[2]
Her voice echoed through the mausoleum. For a moment, nothing happened.
Then someone scoffed. "Tch. Probably fake. Let's just find another one."
They started gathering their things, muttering among themselves. But then—one of them stopped.
"Wait… do you see that?"
The others turned. From the cracks in the floor, dark liquid began to seep upward—thick, glistening, crimson. It rose unnaturally, forming droplets that hung in the air, trembling like they were breathing.
"What the hell…"
The droplets gathered, swelling into floating spheres of blood that pulsed like living hearts. The air thickened with the scent of iron.
Before anyone could react, one of the blood orbs darted forward, striking a man's forehead. His body stiffened; blood burst from his eyes, then he collapsed.
Screams erupted. The orbs moved faster, each one choosing its target. The sound of bodies hitting stone echoed through the mausoleum.
And then—silence.
The orbs remained suspended in the air, lazily circling the altar, as if satisfied.
Slowly, the girl on the altar stirred. Her eyelids fluttered open.
"So noisy," she murmured.
The girl blinked slowly, her gaze drifting over the room. Bodies lay scattered across the floor, their blood still glistening under the candlelight.
She frowned. "Now who am I supposed to ask about this situation?"
With a sigh, she slid off the altar and stepped lightly onto the cold stone. Her bare feet made no sound. She moved among the corpses, studying them with the detached curiosity of someone inspecting broken toys.
Something caught her eye—a book, half-buried beneath a fallen cloak. Its spine was cracked, its pages smeared with blood.
"Ah."
Her lips curved into a faint smile. "So that's it."
A quiet laugh escaped her. The sound was almost fond. That book. The very one she had chosen to rest upon when she'd grown tired of the world, a thousand years ago.
How amusing that mortals had stumbled upon it and tried to use it without understanding a single word.
Since there was no one left to question, she sat beside the nearest body—a girl, lifeless and still warm. One of the blood orbs floated near, pulsing softly like a heartbeat. It hovered, then pierced the corpse's forehead.
After a moment, it withdrew, carrying with it a faint shimmer of something unseen. The dark-haired girl caught the orb in her palm, brought it to her lips, and swallowed it whole.
A rush of images burst behind her eyes—memories that weren't hers. Faces. Voices. A glimpse of the outside world.
She exhaled sharply, tasting echoes of the dead girl's life. Then she stood and repeated the act, moving from one body to the next, absorbing each lingering fragment of thought and memory.
When the last orb dissolved on her tongue, she finally straightened, her expression thoughtful.
"So… this is where the world has gone," she murmured.
[1] despair, loss of spirit, dejection, hopelessness
[2] The world is yours to savor, and your despair shall follow.