The sound of that heavy door opening still rings in my ears.
A metallic, trembling groan—
as if a century-old rusted door had stirred awake in the depths of darkness.
The book slipped from my hands.
It felt as if someone was pulling the breath straight out of my chest.
I didn't dare look back.
The light in the library suddenly dimmed.
Even the reddish, fiery shadow that had fallen across the pages slowly faded away.
Silence.
Only the sound of my own heartbeat.
I ran.
Out of the library, down the corridor, and straight into my room. I slammed the door shut.
My hands were shaking— it took me two tries to turn the key.
I stood there with my back against the door, gasping for breath.
"Naziba… it's your imagination. Just your imagination…"
I tried to convince myself.
Nothing in the room had changed.
The books, the chair, the curtains—everything was exactly the same.
Yet it felt as though the air itself had grown heavier.
I sank onto the bed.
My legs felt numb.
Only one sentence kept circling in my head—
"I… am not a witch."
Who had said those words?
Where had that voice come from?
The moment I closed my eyes, the name Ales surfaced in my mind.
The history of how a girl can be stripped of her humanity
through accusation, hunger, and fear—
until she is turned into a beast.
I couldn't think anymore.
I don't even remember when I fell asleep.
I woke at dawn with a strange discomfort.
It felt as though someone had walked over my body all night.
My throat was dry.
My tongue felt stuck to the roof of my mouth.
I got out of bed and went to the bathroom.
As I splashed water on my face and looked up at the mirror, I suddenly froze.
In the mirror—
There was no shadow behind me.
But
on the dusty surface of the glass,
in small Polish letters,
someone had written a name.
A L E S
My eyes widened.
I took a step back.
My heartbeat surged.
But in the very next moment—
there was nothing.
Only the same old layer of dust.
I laughed without realizing it.
The sound came out broken.
"Sleep haze… just sleep haze,"
I told myself.
Yet I did not clean the mirror.
For some reason, I felt—
if I wiped away the dust,
that name would appear again.
At the office that day, nothing would sink in.
My eyes were on the papers,
but my mind was still staring at that open book in the library.
My coworker, Christina, called out to me twice.
"Hey, Naziba… you okay?"
I nodded.
"Yeah… just tired."
I lied.
My body felt strangely heavy.
A dull ache low in my abdomen.
Then I remembered—
my period had started.
Weakness mixed with a strange restlessness.
I left work early that day.
By evening, when I returned to the Cortez, that silence greeted me again.
The moment the outer gate shut,
it felt as though someone had locked me inside.
I went into my room and sat there for a long time.
I didn't have the courage to look toward the library.
And yet it felt as though…
Someone was calling me.
Not by name—
but touching something deep inside.
At last, I pulled myself together.
Torch in hand, I moved slowly toward the library.
The light inside was already on.
I stopped in surprise.
I hadn't left it on.
I stood at the doorway for a moment, listening—
trying to hear if there was any sound of crying.
Then I stepped inside.
On the desk,
the book lay open once more.
This time, I wasn't afraid.
It was as if the place where fear lived inside me had shifted.
Now it wasn't fear that had grown stronger—
it was curiosity.
I went closer and sat down by the book.
And began to read today's entry:
"They tied me again and dragged me outside.
When I opened my eyes in the light—
I saw myself bound to an iron post.
Fire all around me.
The priest said my body would be purified by flames today."
My chest tightened without warning.
"I screamed.
I kept saying—I am not a witch…
I am only an innkeeper's daughter.
But no one listened."
Without realizing it, my fingers curled into fists.
"When the fire reached my feet,
I no longer called out to God.
I said only this—
if I survive…
no one will ever be able to forget me."
The writing ended there.
At the bottom of the page—
a scratch-like mark.
And beneath it—
a dark stain, almost the color of dried blood.
I pulled my hand back.
Just then,
the floor beneath my feet trembled.
Very faintly.
But I knew—
this tremor did not come from above.
It came from below.
From the underground chamber.
A strange coldness crept up from the soles of my feet.
It felt as though someone was slowly approaching me from below.
And in one corner of the library—
within the shadows—
the presence of someone standing there became unmistakably real.
I turned around.
There was no one.
Yet right beside my ear,
I heard the sound of breathing.
And then, very slowly,
in a voice colder than ice, someone whispered—
"Tonight… the door will open completely."
My legs refused to move.