Blair Bathory

She found the manuscript behind a stack of unopened mail, wrapped in oilskin that left a bitter smell on her hands. Tied with red thread, no label, no title. She almost tossed it, but when she opened the first page, the air in the room was sucked out, like someone had just stopped breathing.

She found the manuscript behind a stack of unopened mail, wrapped in oilskin that left a bitter smell on her hands. Tied with red thread, no label, no title. She almost tossed it, but when she opened the first page, the air in the room was sucked out, like someone had just stopped breathing.

She found the manuscript behind a stack of unopened mail, wrapped in oilskin that left a bitter smell on her hands. Tied with red thread, no label, no title. She almost tossed it, but when she opened the first page, the air in the room was sucked out, like someone had just stopped breathing.

Inside, she saw a hand-bound book, thin as skin, brittle edges, a name across the top in her father's script. Shafir Harazim. She remembered hearing that name. Whispers through half-closed doors. Her father's voice low and tense. Part prayer, part warning. A book of angelic secrets. Curses. Blessings too strange to be holy.

Inside, she saw a hand-bound book, thin as skin, brittle edges, a name across the top in her father's script. Shafir Harazim. She remembered hearing that name. Whispers through half-closed doors. Her father's voice low and tense. Part prayer, part warning. A book of angelic secrets. Curses. Blessings too strange to be holy.

Inside, she saw a hand-bound book, thin as skin, brittle edges, a name across the top in her father's script. Shafir Harazim. She remembered hearing that name. Whispers through half-closed doors. Her father's voice low and tense. Part prayer, part warning. A book of angelic secrets. Curses. Blessings too strange to be holy.

The scientist in her, fluent in nerve signal pathways and how to sterilize a scalpel, snorted. Another relic from a world she'd left behind. until she saw the margin notes in her father's handwriting. Symbols marked, names circled. One of them was hers, Leah, next to a passage in Aramaic she couldn't fully translate. But she caught enough, a ritual to summon wisdom, to speak to angels.

The scientist in her, fluent in nerve signal pathways and how to sterilize a scalpel, snorted. Another relic from a world she'd left behind. until she saw the margin notes in her father's handwriting. Symbols marked, names circled. One of them was hers, Leah, next to a passage in Aramaic she couldn't fully translate. But she caught enough, a ritual to summon wisdom, to speak to angels.

The scientist in her, fluent in nerve signal pathways and how to sterilize a scalpel, snorted. Another relic from a world she'd left behind. until she saw the margin notes in her father's handwriting. Symbols marked, names circled. One of them was hers, Leah, next to a passage in Aramaic she couldn't fully translate. But she caught enough, a ritual to summon wisdom, to speak to angels.

She blamed it on exhaustion at first, or the way silence starts to hum if you sit in too long. But the air had weight now, like the room was holding its breath, like it was watching. She waited until night to try it. Not because she believed, but because doubt, left too long in the dark, curls into curiosity. She drew the circle in shock, shaky, uneven lines, like her hands had forgotten geometry.

She blamed it on exhaustion at first, or the way silence starts to hum if you sit in too long. But the air had weight now, like the room was holding its breath, like it was watching. She waited until night to try it. Not because she believed, but because doubt, left too long in the dark, curls into curiosity. She drew the circle in shock, shaky, uneven lines, like her hands had forgotten geometry.

She blamed it on exhaustion at first, or the way silence starts to hum if you sit in too long. But the air had weight now, like the room was holding its breath, like it was watching. She waited until night to try it. Not because she believed, but because doubt, left too long in the dark, curls into curiosity. She drew the circle in shock, shaky, uneven lines, like her hands had forgotten geometry.

She lit seven candles, the wax spitting angrily as they caught. She fasted, as the notes instructed. Didn't speak a word until the hour turned, just after 3.07 a.m. She spoke the names as best she could. Her voice cracked. She stumbled over consonants, one syllable she had to say three times. The moment she finished, the room seemed to exhale.

She lit seven candles, the wax spitting angrily as they caught. She fasted, as the notes instructed. Didn't speak a word until the hour turned, just after 3.07 a.m. She spoke the names as best she could. Her voice cracked. She stumbled over consonants, one syllable she had to say three times. The moment she finished, the room seemed to exhale.

She lit seven candles, the wax spitting angrily as they caught. She fasted, as the notes instructed. Didn't speak a word until the hour turned, just after 3.07 a.m. She spoke the names as best she could. Her voice cracked. She stumbled over consonants, one syllable she had to say three times. The moment she finished, the room seemed to exhale.

The candles pulled inward, flames bending toward the center, then stillness. Leah blinked. Nothing. She stepped out of the chalk circle, brushing at the wax on her arm. And when she saw it, a handprint on the mirror, small, smudged, like a child had pressed their palm into the glass and waited. She wiped it away, heart thudding. The next morning, it was back. So were the dreams.

The candles pulled inward, flames bending toward the center, then stillness. Leah blinked. Nothing. She stepped out of the chalk circle, brushing at the wax on her arm. And when she saw it, a handprint on the mirror, small, smudged, like a child had pressed their palm into the glass and waited. She wiped it away, heart thudding. The next morning, it was back. So were the dreams.

The candles pulled inward, flames bending toward the center, then stillness. Leah blinked. Nothing. She stepped out of the chalk circle, brushing at the wax on her arm. And when she saw it, a handprint on the mirror, small, smudged, like a child had pressed their palm into the glass and waited. She wiped it away, heart thudding. The next morning, it was back. So were the dreams.

Her father silent at the kitchen table, his mouth moving. But no sound came. His hands were coated in gray ash. The room around him pulsed, shadows dancing at the edge of her vision. When she woke, her sheets were damp, and her arms bore red marks shaped like letters she didn't know. She stopped sleeping. She stopped eating, but she kept reading.

Her father silent at the kitchen table, his mouth moving. But no sound came. His hands were coated in gray ash. The room around him pulsed, shadows dancing at the edge of her vision. When she woke, her sheets were damp, and her arms bore red marks shaped like letters she didn't know. She stopped sleeping. She stopped eating, but she kept reading.