Nightmares and Omens

The sharp wind blew against the windows of Valefar Manor, scratching the glass like invisible fingers trying to get in, making the treetops shake as if they were trying to avoid what was coming. The sky outside was an abyss without a moon, without stars, just an endless darkness that spread across the woods around the property, heavy rain clouds marked an omen of the future. Inside, only the flickering glow of a few candles illuminated the ritual hall, casting long shadows across the walls lined with shelves crammed with ancient books and parchment.

On the dark wooden floor, an arcane circle had been drawn with precision, the lines made of chalk mixed with ash, a secret passed down through generations. Within this circle, sitting with her legs crossed and her shoulders covered by a black cloak draped over her, Grace Valefar held a heavy black leather book with runes engraved in silver. Her heart hammered against her ribs, making her sigh heavily, trying to calm down.

She shouldn't be there.

His grandfather's warnings still echoed in his mind. “This book is not just any artifact, Grace. It contains more than words. He does inexplicable things to humanity. Don’t let anyone near this book.”

But Dante Valefar was dead. And his death was not natural.

Grace opened the grimoire between her fingers. The leather was cold to the touch, as if the book had been left undisturbed for hours – but she knew it had been there, in that same place, for months. Since the night Dante left.

She had avoided that hall. Averted that book. But in the last few days, something started calling her back. At first, they were just confused dreams: symbols glowing in the dark, whispers without a source, a veil of shadows opening before your eyes. But then came the more concrete signs.

Objects moved around the house on their own. The mirrors reflected things that weren't there. And most of all, Grace heard his name being called, always on the edge of hearing, as if someone was whispering through the walls.

And now, here she was.

His gaze roamed the pages of the Grimório de Ezren Valefar, trying to decipher the symbols in ancient Latin. The faded paint looked viva, pulsing with a faint light whenever his eyes lingered too long on a word.

One sentence in particular caught his attention.

"In nocte perpetua, in sanguine meo,

claudo portas inter mundos,

fiant vincula aeternum…"

("In eternal night, with my blood,

I close the doors between the worlds,

May the chains be eternal...")

His body shuddered. The original spell.

The enchantment that your ancestor, Ezren Valefar , conjured centuries ago to seal the passage between the worlds. The spell that was imprisoned your lineage between reality and the Veil, making them unwilling guardians of something they don't even fully understand.

Grace ran her fingers over the text, feeling the energy that vibrated in those words. His blood seemed responder, a tingling rising up your arms. The air suddenly became heavier, denser, as if the mansion had held its breath along with her.

One of the candles trembled, its flame leaning to one side without any wind.

It was then that she felt it.

Something was in the room.

Chill ran down his spine. Slowly, she looked up from the book and looked around. The shadows on the walls are thicker, dark as spilled paint. And, in the far corner of the room, near the main bookshelf, a silhouette was formed.

It was a tall, shapeless shadow, its edges trembling like black smoke. But there was eyes – two white, glassy dots that glowed in the darkness.

Grace felt air trapped in her lungs. Instinct screamed at him to close the book, blow out the candles and run. But something stronger kept her there. One dark magnetism, an alluring attraction that prevented him from moving.

The silhouette tilted its head to the side, as if studying her.

And then, he spoke.

”Grace…”

The voice does not come from the creature. It came from the book in his hands.

The grimoire pulsed , the rune on his cloak glowed for a second, and a deep hum filled the hall. Grace felt her stomach turn. She knew that voice.

It was impossible. It couldn't be.

“Grandfather...?” – His voice was low, trembling.

The shadow took a step forward.

Grace instinctively recoiled, but her fingers remained firm on the grimoire, as if the book had fused to her skin. His heart beat like a war drum, and a chill ran through his body.

That one it wasn't Dante Valefar.

The truth hit her like a punch. His grandfather was dead. And the thing before her was something that shouldn't be there.

“It can’t be…” - she whispered.

The silhouette leans forward, approaching the edge of the arcane circle. The candlelight flickered violently , as if an invisible force was sucking the heat from the room.

“You opened the book... ” The voice whispered again, but this time it was different. More hoarse. More dark.

Grace he felt a tightness in his chest. The grimoire vibrated in his hands, as if he were being pulled to a place beyond understanding.

The circle of protection began to come undone.

The wind inside the room intensified, and the candle flames went out at once , plunging everything into darkness. The whisper turned into a distorted scream , and Grace knew, in that instant, that there had been a mistake.

Something had crossed over to the other side. In her surprise, Grace lost her balance with some candles that were behind her and fell to the ground, fainting from the blow she received when she fell.

——

Grace jumped out of bed suddenly, her breathing was uneven, her chest hurt and her hands burned. It had been a dream, a horrible dream, but still, just a dream. There was no grimoire, her grandfather was still alive and she didn't even know how to do magic. It was all a very crazy dream.

Maybe she should stop seeing reports of witchcraft before bed, it was affecting her dreams.

Grace turned to her left side and grabbed a glass of water from the cabinet that she always had available in case she felt thirsty in the middle of the night. This was a custom that her grandfather taught her and she has since adopted it as a routine in her home.

Looking at the alarm clock, she saw that it was almost six in the morning and she would need to get up anyway. Throwing her feet off the bed, she put on her sandals and went to the first floor, heading to the bathroom to get ready for the day ahead.

The Valefar mansion was a huge old building, it had been passed down from generation to generation, preserved by the good care that the old Valefar people had. According to the stories her grandfather told her, the mansion had several rooms and rooms to accommodate even the largest family they could receive.

Leaving the bathroom, Grace headed to the kitchen so she could prepare her meal before heading to work at the old bookstore. She opened the fridge and looked at what was inside, analyzing to see if she could make something different for breakfast.

“Grace…”

She raised her head quickly. Looking sideways and back repeatedly.

“I must be going crazy.” She said as she grabbed a container of cheese, eggs, and milk from the fridge. Grace placed the ingredients on the counter and began preparing her breakfast. Today was Sunday and she would not open the bookstore as she always did every morning for Pierre, she would only work on the restorations of the books, since she had few in progress and needed to analyze the conditions of some others that had arrived.

—

A cup of coffee and an egg and cheese sandwich later. Grace felt comfortable enough to go change and head to the studio.

She had a set of specific clothes for work, setting them aside to be dirty and filled with glue or paint. Grace loved her Gothic style clothes, a style that her grandmother cultivated in her during her childhood and passed some of her clothes on to her before she passed away.

Today would be a day with few projects, as she was about to receive a large shipment of books from an old bookstore that was undergoing renovations and the owners asked Pierre and her to restore some old books to improve customer reading, as well as repair some others that had been wearing out over time. She only accepted because it was something quick and didn't require much of her time since she would be sharing some projects with Pierre.

After walking a few minutes around the city, enjoying the calm that followed early in the morning. Non Cicury City was a strange city for those who didn't live in those surroundings, being an ancient city, it gave off a dark and frightening aura due to the huge buildings and buildings of Gothic architecture, its mansion being one of them. In the mornings and at nightfall, fog spreads through the streets, making it almost impossible to get around if you don't have prior knowledge of the city.

It didn't take long to arrive at Pierre's bookstore. The Beaufort Library was the only and oldest library the city had. It was a monstrosity of shelves that ran along long corridors, with an aura of antiquity and a smell of books, the bookstore receives many visitors and tourists to learn about the history of the city and its foundation.

As soon as Grace walked through the main sliding doors, she was greeted by the owner, Pierre Beaufort, a Frenchman who had lived there for as long as she could remember, a little man who was nothing if not friendly, gave her a job at the same time she told him she was self-employed doing book restorations.

Grace waved back to Pierre who had greeted her with a smile and a nod. Today he was at the main side counter, reading some of his old books which, according to him, were super interesting.

Heading to her study, which was in the rooms at the back of the library, she entered calmly, taking off her long coat and placing it on a rack that was next to the door. Grace ran her hand over her black jumpsuit, she had gotten it from her grandfather, who according to him, was from her grandmother, on her clothes there were some droplets of water that had condensed due to the change in temperature she had experienced since entering the bookstore. Soon after composing herself, she began to analyze the books on the central tables, which were pressed together to fix the lumbar spine.

Seeing that they all still needed a little time to be completely dry so they could be removed without damaging the body of the book, Grace started to map out the location so she could receive the boxes with the books. According to the owners, there would be around 2,500 books that would arrive in twenty boxes with approximately 125 books in each, they were large and bulky boxes, twenty of them would take up a lot of space, something that the studio was not able to receive at the time.

She wouldn't worry too much about the books, as that was Pierre's responsibility. Grace focused her attention on designing the covers of the books that were in the presses, the last books she had to finish before receiving the huge shipment of books were the ones in the presses. She was very excited to make the covers for these books, they were part of a collection from a little girl who wanted to have her family books restored and brought to life by Grace's hands.

Working with books was something delicate, it required time, dedication and extra attention to bring those literary works back to life, even more so when they asked for a particular customization, which she would have to dedicate a thousand times more to make the dreams and expectations of those who sought her into something real.

—

“Grace?” Pierre called her, knocking twice lightly on the studio door and then opening it. It came with two small lunch boxes wrapped in a cloth to improve transportation there.

The woman raised her head and looked at the man with eyes of surprise and questioning. She wouldn't be able to speak because she had a brush in her mouth and her hands were busy holding the edges of the book, if she let go, the painting would get stained all over and that wasn't what she wanted. This was the last book she had to do the painting before covering it, and it was one of the most beautiful of all and there was no way it could go wrong.

“I brought your lunch box, girl. You keep forgetting to stop to eat” Pierre entered the room and placed the lunch boxes on the empty table. After he left the bundle there, he left and didn't say anything else. Grace watched her boss's movements as he left. Inside, she was smiling at the pleasure the man had given her, he was always like that and her heart was always warm, he reminded her a lot of her grandfather.

Speaking of her grandfather, she would have to go to his house at the end of the day at his request. She didn't know what he wanted or what topic he wanted to talk to her about, but he was very insistent on the call he made to her the day before.

A few minutes later, Grace finished her painting and left the book on the press in the same position it had been in since she started the painting. She moved her chair away by pushing the floor with her feet, causing her rolling chair to roll back. The woman stretched out her arms to stretch and stretch her lower back which was a bit stuck from being in the same position for hours.

Grace got up from her chair and went to where Pierre had left his lunch box. She went to look for another chair to sit on, when she turned back, she felt her blood run cold, the hair on her arms stood up and she started to break out in a cold sweat.

In the corner of the wall, next to some old books, the same figure that appeared in her dreams was there, looking at her, staring at her as if she were seeing her worst sins, she could clearly see those white eyes staring at her, evaluating her. The thing knew she was scared, she could feel a smugness in the air.

As soon as it appeared, the figure left, leaving an empty space and a frightening atmosphere in the room. What was once nothing more than a simple decoration, now the warm lights that adorned the four corners of the room became a horror show in Grace's mind. Everything in the room was scaring her, the huge shelves with old books, the low lights, the ticking of the clock and even her own breathing.

Grace didn't think twice before grabbing her lunch box and getting out of there as quickly as possible. Fortunately she had to go to her grandfather's house and that way she could forget these events or get a laugh or two from the situation.