The scratching wasn't coming from the hallway.
It was coming from inside the book.
Lena clutched the white page to her chest. Its edges twitched like something breathing its last. The Rare Texts Room had gone still, the air thick with the scent of iron and scorched paper. The shadows stretched unnaturally, warping into something half-human—long fingers, empty eyes, mouths sewn shut with black thread.
The book on the floor moved.
Then it laughed.
A sick, wet sound—like someone drowning in ink.
"You can't burn what's already burning, Keeper."
It wasn't the Witness's voice.
It was hers.
---
THE WHITE PAGE'S SECRET
The page in Lena's hand pulsed—like a heartbeat. She turned it over. Black ink smudged beneath her fingers.
Words bled through.
"Mira Sokolov. Last Will and Testament."
Then, scratched below in a frantic, broken script:
"I lied. There's no true name. No sacred word to destroy it. The only way to kill the book is to let it believe it's won."
Lena's breath caught.
More ink seeped out, revealing a second layer:
"It wants a vessel. A Keeper strong enough to hold the god inside. Pretend to surrender. Let it inside. Then—when it thinks you're its own—burn from the inside out."
A dark droplet splattered onto the page.
Not ink.
Blood.
Lena looked up.
The ceiling above her was crying.
---
THE OFFER
The book snapped open on its own.
A new page appeared. In graceful handwriting, it read:
1. "Become the Vessel. Live forever. Rewrite the past."
2. "Burn the Book. Die forgotten. Save no one."
And then a third option blinked in and out:
"Or… cheat."
The room turned ice cold. Frost crackled along the shelves and crawled toward Lena's feet. The shadows thickened into a tall, gaunt figure.
The Last Witness.
Its sewn lips twitched.
"You read the page. You know now. Mira didn't escape the book." It stepped closer, joints cracking. "She let it consume her."
Lena gripped the page tighter. "What does that even mean?"
The Witness smiled.
"She's part of it now. Just like you're about to be."
And then it lunged.
---
THE FIRST CUT
Its fingers—thin and sharp, tipped like quills—sank into Lena's shoulder.
Pain exploded.
But worse than pain—memories.
Visions tore through her mind:
- Mira screaming as pages stitched themselves into her flesh.
- Alistair crying as he wrote his daughter's name—Lena's mother—into the book.
- Anya, the first Keeper, her jaw tearing open as the god crawled into her.
Lena ripped herself free, stumbling back. The white page fluttered to the floor.
The Witness didn't chase her.
It just smiled.
"Now you see it, don't you? There's no out. Only in."
The book flipped open again.
One word glistened on a fresh page.
"CHOOSE."
---
THE RITUAL
Lena grabbed the page.
Burn from within.
Mira's last words echoed in her skull.
She ran.
Out of the Rare Texts Room. Down the stairwell. Into the city night.
The streets warped around her. New York flickered between real and nightmare—
- A newspaper stand showing her own obituary.
- A bus stop with Jenna and Dan, their heads twisted backward.
- A payphone ringing, Mira's whisper barely audible: "Hurry."
Lena didn't stop until she got to the only place the book couldn't taint.
The old church.
The one where she found the monk's dagger.
Its doors were already open.
Waiting.
---
THE SHADOW GOD'S VOICE
The air was thick with wax and blood. The pews sat empty—but the shadows didn't.
They moved.
They breathed.
They watched.
Lena walked straight to the altar. White page in one hand. The book in the other.
She didn't call it.
It was already there.
The shadow peeled itself from the walls, shape-shifting—Alistair. Mira. Lena herself—smiling with too many teeth.
"Clever girl," it said, voice smooth as ink. "You brought me home."
Lena didn't blink.
She dropped the book on the altar.
Pressed the white page to her chest.
And let it sink in.
---
THE UNMAKING
Flames shot from her skin.
But not normal fire—
Black fire.
The book shrieked, pages flapping like birds trying to escape. The god recoiled, its body unraveling into ink and smoke.
"NO!"
Lena reached out, her hands burning.
"You want a vessel?" she growled. "Then take me."
She shoved the page into the book.
Everything exploded.
The god screamed, its voice breaking the stained glass. The book twisted, ink spraying like blood. Its pages fused, melted into something grotesque.
Then—
Silence.
The book lay still.
Charred.
Empty.
Lena collapsed, shaking.
It was over.
---
THE LAST WHISPER
Until the laughter began.
Soft.
Then rising.
Hungry.
Lena's eyes shot open.
The book was healing.
The burnt pages stitched themselves back together. The cover gleamed, untouched.
On the first page, fresh words appeared:
"Thank you."
The god's voice echoed through the church:
"You didn't destroy me, Keeper."
"You fed me."
The doors slammed shut.
And the real horror began.
---