The Warlock’s Origin

After hours of examining the book, I had finally unlocked its secrets. I could feel the information pouring into me. Images of battles long forgotten and forbidden artifacts lost to time burned their way into my memory, securing their future. I wanted power, and I knew this book would give it to me. My heart raced it surged through me.

It wanted to give it all to me. The hairs raised on my arms and sweat beaded on my forehead. It was too much at once. I tried to pull away as a spike of fear flashed through my body, but the book wasn’t done with me. It turned from information to something dark. I could see it as clear as an evening sunset. The darkness the book held.

The book suddenly dug its claws into my mind. Holding me down as I struggled against the things I didn’t ask for and the things I didn’t want. Pain seared across my throat as I tried to scream. It silenced me. Not letting me speak. I felt a blistering pain on my forehead as it bled into my eyes.

A quiet laugh sounded from deep within my mind as I fell to the ground. Released from the mighty grip of the tome in my hands. I dropped it, scurrying back away from it. I noticed my hands as I tried to stand. They were thin and pale. I felt more sick than I could ever remember.

There was something else as well. There was a smell now. The odor of decaying flesh. I knew immediately where it was coming from as a tear escaped my eyes. My body had taken the book inside itself. I turned over to push myself up from the ground with my weakness to see my reflection in a small puddle. In the center of my forehead a single hideous rune appeared to had been carved in the skin. A silent scream escaped my lips as I mourned my ruined beauty.