Whispers from the elders urged me to the towering corridors of aging tomes questing for this book. There before me, the deceitfully simple appearance with gold lettering and bold print called out for the darkness within my soul. Quickly I fled away with my newest acquisition, shielded from the examinations of the outside world between a book featuring the cutest little baby chicks and another book taking a serious stance on animal cruelty. Finally home, it sat there mocking my fear with it's terrible aura of dark power.
Yes, for weeks it stood above me lurking over my head. Slowly it infected my dreams and banished me into the realms of hellish night terrors. Night after night it stalked my mind, until one night I was forced to confront my fears and pick it up.
So far I had been seeking an epic tale to sate my friend's lust for great storytelling. Running short on time I had, but one choice, the dark tome. I knew alone it would consume my very soul, but maybe together we could slay this beast. Then I reached up from my computer to fetch the wretched thing.
I felt it its dark energies pulse against my fingertips as I brought the book in front of me. The cover felt as if it was bound within a death shroud. I was stuck by the notion that I previously believed this book to have been wrapped in the skin of a sacrificial bull, but I was mistaken. Upon closer inspection I saw evidence of woven cloth that was not quite adhering to universal order, slightly slanted against normality. No light returns from the blackness of this book. During those fretful nights of poor sleep, sometimes when I awoke I would look over and I would struggle just to make out its shadowy silhouette. It was like a trick of the light, like my mind was playing games with me. Even the gold print on the spine seems not to want to relinquish its death grip upon the light that touches it. Both the front and back covers are completely unadorned as if it was trying to stealthily creep into my life and murder me in my sleep.
Upon opening the book and flipping through the pages quickly, I am treated to arcane scribbling of a mad man. No rational or logical mind could will a hand to manipulate a black marker to create such unsettling artwork. The page numbers as well are unusual as they are not on the bottom corners like so many other benign books. No these numbers count away your increasing insanity from the top corners with a font that harkens back to an older age.
Finally I reached the front of the book, where I discovered something I was never expecting. I read an explanation. It's not of the story within, but the back story of this version of the story. Yes, this is not an exact recreation of the original ramblings of a crazy person but a second edition of the work. This edition includes footnotes detailing the changes made from the first to the second that may or may not have been made my the original author. Mostly it's just the result of a bleeding editor's pen, but there may still yet be some additional influence from the writer's mind. Then with another turn of a page, I find that I am holding a relic. This was one of 300 loving crafted copies of the original work from those who seek to retain ancient writings.
May the Gods have mercy upon my soul. (If I have one left after reading this.)
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