Demon's Tongue

Chapter 1

Geneva

The musty scent of old parchment fills my nostrils as I frantically flip through yet another tome. My fingers tremble, leaving smudges on the yellowed pages. The flickering candlelight casts eerie shadows across the library's shelves, a constant reminder of the time slipping away.

"Come on, come on," I mutter, slamming the book shut and reaching for another. "There has to be something here."

My eyes ache from hours of reading, but I can't stop. Not now. Not when my future hangs in the balance.

A soft cough breaks my concentration. I look up to see Mira, one of the younger girls, peering at me from behind a bookshelf.

"Geneva?" she whispers, her eyes wide with concern. "You should be in bed. Miss Pickett will be furious if she catches you."

I shake my head, my long dark hair falling across my face. "I can't sleep, Mira. Not when..." My voice trails off, unable to voice the horror that awaits me.

Mira steps closer, her bare feet silent on the cold stone floor. "Is it true? Are they really going to..." She can't finish the sentence either.

"Sell me to a dark elf?" I spit out the words, tasting bile. "Yeah, it's true. Happy birthday to me, right?"

Mira's eyes fill with tears. "But why? You're not like the others. You're smart, and strong, and—"

"And that's exactly why," I cut her off, my voice harsh with bitterness. "Miss Pickett thinks I'll fetch a higher price. Says the dark elves like a challenge."

I turn back to the books, my hands shaking as I open another. The words blur before my eyes, a jumble of useless information. Nothing about escaping. Nothing about breaking magical contracts. Nothing that can save me.

"There has to be a way," I growl, more to myself than to Mira. "I won't let them take me. I won't become some dark elf's plaything."

Mira, in her fright, puts away her book and scampers off. That leaves me alone in this library, fighting for answers despite the fatigue that gnaws at my limbs. 

I slump back in my chair, the weight of my situation crushing down on me. The candle flickers, casting dancing shadows across the dusty tomes surrounding me. My eyes drift to a small, ornate mirror propped against a stack of books. The face staring back at me is unfamiliar—hollow-cheeked, dark circles under tired green eyes.

"Is this really all I am?" I whisper to my reflection. "Just another orphan, destined to be sold off like an animal?"

My mind wanders back to the countless times I've imagined my parents. Were they kind? Did they love me? Or was I just a burden they couldn't bear?

"Doesn't matter now, does it?" I mutter, tracing the small scar above my left eyebrow. A memento from my first attempt to escape this place.

I can still hear Miss Pickett's shrill voice echoing in my ears. "You ungrateful little wretch! We took you in when no one else would!"

Took me in. As if I should be grateful for a life of servitude and the promise of a fate worse than death.

I stand up, my legs protesting after hours of sitting. Pacing the length of the library, I let my fingers trail along the spines of the books. So much knowledge, so many stories of adventure and freedom. And here I am, trapped.

"There has to be more than this," I say to the empty room. "I refuse to believe that my entire existence is meant to be... this."

I pause at the window, looking out at the starry sky. Somewhere out there is a world I've only dreamed of. A world where I'm not defined by the circumstances of my birth or the whims of those who see me as property.

"I'll find it," I promise myself, my reflection in the glass looking more determined than I feel. "I don't care what it takes. I'll find a way out of here, away from the dark elves, away from this life."

Inspired, I return to my books. There's an answer in one of these. I can feel it. The thrumming of my heart only grows louder as my fingers dance across the pages, skimming words that hardly register.

What if this is all a waste of time?

Swallowing hard, I gather all of the books in my hand and start returning them to their rightful places on the shelves. 

As I slide the last book into place, my fingers brush against something peculiar. Hidden behind the row of tomes, a slim volume catches my eye. Its spine bears no title, just a strange symbol that seems to writhe and twist as I look at it.

"What is this?" I mutter, carefully extracting the book. My curiosity gets the best of me. Adrenaline starts coursing through my veins.

The cover is smooth, almost warm to the touch. That bizarre symbol pulses faintly, as if alive. My heart races as I open it, half-expecting some sort of trap or alarm.

Instead, I find a single page with spidery writing.

"How to summon a demon," I read aloud, my voice barely above a whisper.

A chill runs down my spine. This can't be real, can it? Demons are just stories to scare children. Ways of keeping humans in check with tales of horror and violence. But something about this rings true. It radiates an energy that I've never encountered before.

I scan the page, my mind reeling. The instructions are surprisingly simple. A few words, a marking on the floor, a small offering of blood, and supposedly, a demon appears.

"This is insane," I say to myself, closing the book. "I can't actually be considering this."

But as I look around the empty library, at the useless books that have failed to provide any escape, I realize I'm out of options. Tomorrow, I'll be sold to a dark elf. What could be worse than that?

"At least a demon might make a deal with me," I reason, trying to convince myself. "It's not like I have much left to lose."

My hands shake as I gather the few items listed in the book. A candle, easily swiped from one of the library tables. A small knife, borrowed from the kitchen earlier for protection. And my own blood, the final ingredient.

I clear a space on the floor, pushing aside chairs and rugs. The candlelight flickers, casting long shadows that seem to reach for me.

"This is crazy," I mutter, even as I start to draw the symbol from the book on the stone floor with a piece of chalk. "I'm going to get myself killed. Or worse."

But I don't stop. I can't. Because the alternative is unthinkable.

I finish the symbol and place the candle at its center. Taking a deep breath, I pick up the knife.

"Here goes nothing," I whisper, pressing the blade to my palm.

Hissing in a breath, blood oozes out of the wound and down onto the floor. Following the instructions in the book, I draw out the required symbols with my blood, grimacing every now and then at the sting of pain that flashes across my hand.

Soon enough, fear and regret fill me. What if this doesn't even work?

…But what if it does?

I take a deep breath, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. The book trembles in my hands as I start to mumble the words written on the page. They feel strange on my tongue, a language I've never heard before.

"Vox tenebris, audite me," I whisper, my voice growing stronger with each syllable. "Daemon ex abysso, veni ad me."

The candle flickers, casting shadows across the library floor. I squeeze my eyes shut, half expecting to be struck by lightning or swallowed by the ground.

But nothing happens.

I open one eye, then the other. The library looks exactly the same. No demon, no magic, no anything.

"Fuck," I mutter, slumping to the floor. "I'm such an idiot."

Tears sting my eyes as I stare at the useless symbol drawn in my own blood. Of course it didn't work. Why would it? I'm just a stupid orphan girl playing with things I don't understand.

"Some escape plan," I grumble, grabbing a rag to clean up the mess. "Guess it's back to square one."

I start wiping away the blood, my movements angry and jerky. The cut on my palm stings, a constant reminder of my desperation and failure.

"At least no one saw—"

A gust of wind extinguishes the candle, plunging the library into darkness. The air grows thick, heavy with an otherworldly presence. My breath catches in my throat as I slowly look up.

There, towering over me, is a massive black demon. Its form seems to absorb the darkness around it, making it hard to distinguish where the shadows end and the creature begins. Two glowing red eyes fix on me, pinning me in place.

I can't move. I can't breathe. Every instinct screams at me to run, but my body won't respond. The demon's presence is overwhelming, filling the room with an aura of ancient power and barely contained violence.

"You called," it rumbles, its voice like gravel grinding against steel. "And I have answered."

My mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes out. What have I done?