April 13, 2025

Whispers In The Dark Part 3 - "Possession" A Supernatural Love Story

Whispers In The Dark Part 3 - "Possession" A Supernatural Love Story

After discovering Alexander's hidden journal, Elise learns the disturbing truth: he accidentally summoned an ancient entity that feeds on fear, desire, and death. When Alexander attempted to bind this entity to Blackwood Estate, he was murdered by...

After discovering Alexander's hidden journal, Elise learns the disturbing truth: he accidentally summoned an ancient entity that feeds on fear, desire, and death. When Alexander attempted to bind this entity to Blackwood Estate, he was murdered by someone he trusted. Now the entity reveals itself directly to Elise, offering a terrible bargain—become its vessel in exchange for preserving her connection with Alexander, or lose him forever. Desperate to find another solution, Alexander reveals his final secret: the medieval text that started everything is buried in his grave. Elise must unearth it before the entity's deadline expires at nightfall.

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Calarogu Shark Media, Hello and welcome to Romance Weekly.

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This episode is titled Whispers in the Dark, Part three Possession.

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The knife from the intruder sits on my desk as

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I write this, a constant reminder that the danger in

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Blackwood Estate isn't confined to dreams and ghosts. It's been

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three days since the break in, and in that time,

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the boundaries between my world and Alexander's have begun to

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blur in ways I never thought possible. I called the

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police the morning after the attack. Of course, the local

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sheriff arrived, took photos of the overturned furniture, the broken vase,

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the bloodstain on the wall. He examined the knife with

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gloved hands, bagging it as evidence. This is an unusual weapon,

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he commented, ceremonial. Maybe not the kind of thing your

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average burglar carries. I told him about the elderly woman

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who had warned me carefully omitting the supernatural elements of

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her appearance and disappearance. He promised to check local records

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for anyone matching her description, but his expression told me

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he didn't expect to find anything. These old estates attract

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all kinds of attention, he said, as he was leaving.

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History buffs, ghost hunters, teenagers looking for a thrill, but

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an armed intruder. That's something else. You got, somewhere else.

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You can stay for a while. I told him I didn't.

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The truth is I couldn't leave even if I wanted to,

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Not with Alexander's journal still unfound, not with his mystery

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still unsolved, not with his touch still lingering on my skin.

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After the sheriff left, I renewed my search for the

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journal with a desperate intensity. I scoured the library again,

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checking for hidden compartments in the desk, behind books, beneath floorboards.

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I returned to the small room where I'd found Alexander's portrait,

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examining every trunk and box nothing. By late afternoon, frustrated

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and exhausted, I found myself in the cellar, a vast

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space beneath the house that I had avoided until now.

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Stone walls wept with moisture, and the dirt floor was

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uneven beneath my feet. Most of the space was taken

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up with abandoned furniture, old trunks, and the kinds of

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debris that accumulate over a century of habitation. I was

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about to give up when my flashlight illuminated a section

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of wall that seemed different from the rest. The stones,

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more precisely fitted, the more newer. Pressing my hand against it,

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I felt a slight draft. There was something beyond. It

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took me an hour of careful examination to find the mechanism,

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a protruding stone that, when pushed in the right way,

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caused a section of the wall to swing inward. The

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space beyond was small, more of a closet than a room,

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empty except for a metal box on the floor. My

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hands trembled as I lifted it. No lock, just a

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simple latch. Inside, wrapped in oilcloth, was a leather bound book,

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Alexander's Journal. I carried it upstairs to the library, my

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heart racing with anticipation. The first entry was dated June nineteen, nineteen,

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seven months after the armistice that ended the Great War.

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Alexander's handwriting was elegant, decisive, the script of a man

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educated in an era when penmanship mattered. I have returned

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to Blackwood Estate at last. The war has taken more

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from me than I care to admit, not just years

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of my life, but something of my faith in humanity,

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what I witnessed in Europe cannot be unsaid or undone.

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But I am home now, and there is comfort in

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these familiar walls, in the constant presence of the sea,

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the text I discovered in the ruins of Saint Michel

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is safely hidden. I have begun the translation work, though

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my knowledge of medieval Latin is imperfect. What I have

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deciphered so far is unsettling. If even half of what

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it suggests is true, then everything we believe about the

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nature of reality is fundamentally flawed. The next several entries

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detailed his progress translating the mysterious text, interspersed with obser

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about the estate and his plans for restoring the family businesses.

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It painted a picture of a man trying to balance

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mundane responsibilities with an increasingly consuming intellectual pursuit. By August,

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his entries had grown more erratic, his elegant script occasionally

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deteriorating into hasty scrawls. The translation is nearly complete, and

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I find myself both exhilarated and terrified by what I

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have learned. The ancients understood truths that modern science has

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yet to rediscover. That the barrier between worlds is permeable

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that consciousness itself is the key to traversing these boundaries.

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I have begun the preliminary rituals described in the text,

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simple meditative practices to heighten awareness of the liminal spaces

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around us. Already I sense changes in my perception. The

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house feels different, more alive. Somehow. Last night, I would

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swear I heard whispers in the walls, though I was

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quite alone. As September turned to October, Alexander's entries became

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more concerning. I am no longer alone in the house.

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Something has taken notice of my work. I feel its

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presence most strongly at night, A weight in the air,

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a darkness deeper than absence of light. I should be afraid,

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I suppose, but curiosity overwhelms caution. What manner of entity

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have I attracted from? What realm does it originate? I

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have left offerings, as the text suggests, small things, drops

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of my blood, fragments of personal items, memories willingly surrendered

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in return. It shows me visions of other places, other times,

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knowledge beyond imagining. The final entries, dated early November nineteen twenty,

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were the most disturbing. The entity has revealed its nature

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to me at last, not a ghost or spirit as

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we commonly understand them, but something far older. It calls

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itself many names, none of which I can pronounce in

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any human tongue. It exists in the spaces between worlds,

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feeding on a particular energy generated by human consciousness, specifically

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the energy of fear, desire, and death. It offers a

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bargain knowledge and power in exchange for sustenance. I hesitate

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to commit the details to paper, even in this private journal.

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The implications are too terrible to contemplate, and yet the

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temptation is overwhelming. I dreamed last night of a woman

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I have never met. She stood in my bedroom, her

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face both strange and achingly familiar. Don't trust, she said,

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No matter what it promises, no matter what it shows you,

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it cannot create, only consume. When I tried to speak

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to her to ask her name, she placed her finger

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against my lips. I will find you, she whispered, in

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another time, and then perhaps we can undo what has

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been done. I awoke with the certainty that her warning

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was real, a message across time. But from whom? And

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how can I possibly interpret such a vision when my

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every thought may now be influenced by the entity's presence.

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The final entry was dated November fifteenth, nineteen twenty. I

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have made my decision. Tonight. I will complete the binding ritual,

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not as the entity expects, but with modifications of my

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own design. If my calculations are correct, the result will

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trap it within the confines of the estate, preventing it

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from extending its influence into the wider world. The cost

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will likely be my life, but I see no alternative.

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What I have unleashed cannot be allowed to roam free

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to whoever may find this journal. Beware, the entity remains

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bound to Blackwood Estate, but not destroyed. It will seek

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a new agent, someone to complete what I began. It

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will offer dreams, desires, knowledge beyond imagining. Do not trust it.

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Do not trust any visions or visitations within these walls.

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And if by some miracle she exists, the woman from

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my dream, know that I have done this for you,

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though we may never meet in any life or time.

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The journal ended. There no further entries, no explanation of

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what happened that night, of how Alexander died, just that

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final warning, written in a hand that suggested agency, perhaps fear.

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I closed the book, my mind racing the woman in

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his dream. Could it have been me? Had Alexander somehow

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sensed my existence across the span of a hundred years

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and this entity he described? Was it still here, bound

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to the house as he claimed? Was it the true

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cause of our connection? I didn't realize how late it

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had grown until I noticed the darkness pressing against the

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library windows. The house seemed unnaturally quiet, the usual creaks

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and settling noises absent, as if it was holding its

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breath waiting Alexander. I called out, my voice, small in

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the silence.

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Are you here?

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No response came, but I felt a change in the air,

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a heaviness, a pressure against my skin, the same sensation

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Alexander had described in his journal. I wasn't alone, but

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for the first time since arriving at Blackwood Estate, I

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wasn't sure if the presence I sensed was Alexander at all.

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I retreated to the master bedroom, the journal clutched against

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my chest like a shield. If Alexander's ghost was bound

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to the house because of this entity, then whatever connection

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we shared might be tainted by its influence. The passion

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I'd felt, the impossible pleasure of our encounters. Was any

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of it real? Or merely the entity's way of luring

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me in as it had once lured Alexander. Despite my exhaustion,

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I fought against sleep that night. I didn't want to dream,

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didn't want to find myself in that liminal space where

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Alexander waited, not until I could be sure it was

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truly him, not some manifest created by the entity to

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manipulate me. But eventually fatigue won out. I drifted into

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uneasy slumber and found myself in the familiar, transformed version

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of the bedroom. Alexander stood by the window, his back

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to me, gazing out at the moonlit grounds. For the

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first time, I studied him with suspicion rather than desire.

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Was this really the ghost of a man who had

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died a century ago? Or something older, darker? Wearing his

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face like a mask, He turned sensing my presence. His

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smile of welcome faltered as he registered my expression. You

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found it, he said quietly the journal. I nodded, keeping

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my distance. You knew where it was all along, Not

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exactly I knew it existed, but my memories of what

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I wrote of where I hid it agmentary, like trying

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to recall a book you read as a child. You

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wrote about an entity, something ancient, that you accidentally summoned

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or contacted through that text you found in France. His

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expression grew grim. Yes, you said you performed a ritual

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to bind it to the estate, that you expected the

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effort to kill you, and so it did. His hand

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went to his chest, to the scar I'd noticed before,

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though not in the way I anticipated what happened. Alexander

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moved toward me, stopping when I instinctively backed away. Pain

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flashed across his features. At my retreat, the ritual required blood,

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he said mine. I had prepared everything, set the boundaries

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of the binding, but at the last moment, as I

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raised the knife, he broke off, his form, flickering like

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a candle in a draft. Someone else was there, someone

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I had trusted. They took the knife from my hand

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and completed the sacrifice for me. You were murdered, yes,

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But the murderer didn't understand the ritual's true purpose. They

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believed they were completing what I had begun, a binding

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that would give the entity access to our world, not

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confine it. Why would anyone want that? I asked, power knowledge,

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the same temptations the entity had offered me Alexander's expression darkened.

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The entity promised impossible things, immortality, command over the forces

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of nature, the ability to bend reality itself. My colleague

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believed every word, but the ritual still worked. The entity

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was bound partially. My preparations were sound enough that it

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couldn't escape the estate entirely. But it wasn't fully contained

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as I had intended. It has influence here within these walls,

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and it has been waiting, gathering strength, looking for another chance.

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I thought of the woman who had warned me of

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the intruder with the ceremonial knife. Who killed you? Alexander,

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who completed the ritual? He shook his head, frustration evident

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in his expression. I don't remember that moment, the actual death.

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It's blank. I remember the pain, the feeling of betrayal,

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but not the face. I studied him, trying to see

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beyond the handsome features, the intense eyes that had captivated

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me from our first encounter. Could I trust him? Or

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was this entire story just another manipulation the entity? I

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said carefully. He wrote that it feeds on fear, desire,

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and death. Our encounters, what we've shared. Is that real?

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Or is it just food for this thing. Alexander's face softened.

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He approached me, slowly, as one might have frightened animal.

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This time, I held my ground. What we share is real, Elise.

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The entity didn't create it. It's merely taken advantage of it.

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His hand reached for mine, and despite my reservations, I

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allowed the contact. That same electric current flowed between us,

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warming his spectral touch. I believe you are the woman

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in my dream that somehow across time you reached back

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to warn me that our connection exists outside the entity's influence.

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How can you be sure? His smile was sad. I can't,

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but I know what I feel when I'm with you,

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and it's not dark or hungry or consuming. It's light, warmth,

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something I haven't felt since I was alive. I wanted

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to believe him. God help me. I still wanted him,

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even knowing what I now knew. I let him pull

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me closer, let his arms encircle me. If what you

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say is true, I murmured against his chest, then the

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entity is still here, still dangerous, and someone else knows

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about it, someone who sent that intruder with the ritual knife. Yes,

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he agreed, his fingers threading through my hair. Someone who

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has discovered what I discovered, who wants what I wanted

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before I understood the true cost. We need to find them,

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stop them. I pulled back to look into his eyes.

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And we need to finish what you started. Bind the

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entity properly, or banish it entirely. Alexander's expression grew troubled.

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That may not be possible without risking your life. The

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ritual requires blood, Elise, a sacrifice. There must be another way,

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I insisted. Your journal mentioned the text you found in France.

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Is it still here, hidden somewhere in the house. I

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believe so, though I don't remember where. His hands framed

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my face with exquisite tenderness. But Elise, you must understand,

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even if we find it, even if there is another

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way to bind the entity, there's a cost I haven't

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told you about yet. What cost? His eyes, those impossible

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eyes that seemed to shift between gray and blue, were

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filled with a sorrow that made my heart ache. I

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exist as I do able to reach you, to touch

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you in this dream space because of the entity's partial freedom.

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If we succeed in binding it completely, you'll be bound too,

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I whispered, understanding dawning, You'll be trapped, unable to manifest

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even in dreams. Or I might be freed, entirely, released

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from this half existence. His voice dropped lower. Either way,

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we would lose this, these moments together. The realization hit

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me like a physical blow. To save myself, to protect

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the world from whatever ancient darkness Alexander had discovered, I

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would have to give up the man I had come

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to to. What love could I possibly love a ghost,

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a man dead for a century, whom I'd known for

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less than two weeks, But looking at him now, feeling

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the solidity of his form against mine, remembering the nights

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we'd shared, the answer was undeniable, impossible, irrational, but true.

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There has to be a way, I said, clinging to

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him more tightly, A way to bind the entity without

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losing you. His smile was gentle, almost pitying. I've had

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a hundred years to consider the problem, Elise. If there

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is a solution, I haven't found it. I was about

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to argue further when a sound interrupted us, a door

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closing somewhere in the dream version of the house. We

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both froze, listening. Someone's here, Alexander whispered, his form instantly alert,

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protective in the dream space. That shouldn't be possible unless

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unless they're connected to the entity too. I've finished for him.

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Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside the bedroom. Slow and deliberate,

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Alexander pushed me behind him, positioning himself between me and

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the door. Stay back, he warned. Whatever comes through that door,

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don't let it touch you, don't let it speak to you.

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The footsteps stopped just outside. The temperature in the room plummeted,

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frost forming on the windowpanes, my breath clouding in front

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of me. The doorknob turned slowly. I caught only a

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glimpse of what entered, A figure that seemed to shift

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and waver, sometimes appearing as an elderly woman, sometimes as

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a young man, sometimes as something not human at all,

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eyes that burned with a light that hurt to look

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at directly. Then Alexander was between us, his form expanding somehow,

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becoming less human, more a force of pure energy. You

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cannot have her, he said, his voice resonating with power.

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I hadn't known he possessed. I bound you once, I

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can do it again. The figure laughed, a sound like

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breaking glass and rushing wind. Poor Alexander, still believing you

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have some control here, thinking you're the hero of this story.

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It turned its burning gaze on me. Has he told

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you what he really did, what he was really seeking

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when he found me. Don't listen, Alexander warned, It twists

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the truth. Truth is subjective, the entity said, its form

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settling momentarily into the appearance of the elderly woman who

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had warned me. Isn't that what you told yourself, Alexander,

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when you began the rituals, when you offered the first

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sacrifices lies, Alexander hissed, But I could hear the uncertainty

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in his voice. The entity circled us, its form constantly shifting.

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He sought power, little Elise, the power to command life

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and death, to extend his own existence indefinitely. He wasn't

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trying to protect the world from me. He was trying

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to bargain for his own immortality. I changed my mind,

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Alexander said, his voice strained. I recognized the danger. I

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tried to undo what I'd done. Too late, the entity taunted,

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always too late, just as it's too late now. It

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turned its burning gaze on me again. He's not what

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you think, Elise, what you feel for him, isn't real.

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It's a construction, my construction, designed to bring you exactly

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where I need you to be. And where is that?

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I asked, finding my voice at last, Its smile was

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terrible to behold in my debt. Willing to make sacrifices

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to save him, to keep these precious moments you share.

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It gestured around at the dream bedroom, all of this,

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the passion, the connection you feel. It's my creation, my

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gift to you both, and I can take it away

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just as easily. To demonstrate it, made a sharp gesture

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with one hand, Alexander cried out, his form beginning to dissolve,

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tatters of him streaming away like smoke in a high

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wind stop. I cried, leave him alone. The entity paused,

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and Alexander's form stabilized, though he looked weaker, diminished. Somehow,

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you see his existence here depends entirely on my generosity.

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The question is what are you willing to offer in

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exchange for that generosity? Don't answer it, Alexander gasped, don't

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make any deals, please elise. The entity ignored him, focusing

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its burning gaze on me. The terms are simple. You

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will help me complete the ritual. Alexander began correctly. This

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time you will be my vessel in the physical world.

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In exchange, I will preserve this space for you both.

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Alexander will remain as he is, able to interact with you,

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to touch you, to share these passionate encounters you both

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so enjoy. And if I refuse its smile widened, revealing

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too many teeth, then I take him now, absorb whatever

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consciousness remains of Alexander Blackwood. He ceases to exist in

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any form, and you return to your empty, ordinary life,

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with nothing but fading memories of what might have been.

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I looked at Alexander, at the anguish in his eyes?

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Was the entity telling the truth? Had he sought immortality,

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power over life and death? Had our connection been manufactured

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allure to bring me to this point? Did it matter?

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Whatever Alexander had once been, whatever he had done, The

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man I knew now, had tried to protect me, had

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warned me in his way, had shown me tenderness and

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passion I'd never known before, And I couldn't bear the

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thought of losing him. The Entity sensed my hesitation. Time

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grows short. Elise Morgan, the sun will rise soon, and

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this dream will end. Your answer, Please Alexander stretched out

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his hand to me, his form still weakened, flickering. Don't

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do it, elise, whatever happens to me, don't give it

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what it wants. I looked from him to the entity

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and back again, torn between impossible choices. To refuse meant

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losing Alexander forever. To agree meant what becoming this thing's puppet,

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helping it extend its influence beyond the estate to be

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another way, some third option. We hadn't considered the text,

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the original medieval text Alexander had found in France. If

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I could locate it, perhaps it contained information about the

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entity's weaknesses, about how to truly bind it without sacrifice.

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I made my decision. I need time. I told the

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entity until tomorrow night to consider your offer. It studied

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me with those burning eyes, seeming to peer directly into

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my thoughts very well one day, but know this delay

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beyond that, and I take him regardless. It gestured at Alexander,

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and my next offer will be considerably less generous. Without

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waiting for my response, it turned and drifted out of

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the room, its form dissolving into mist as it passed

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through the doorway. The moment it was gone, I rushed

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to Alexander, who had crumpled to his knees. His form

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was more transparent than I'd ever seen it, the edges

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of him blurring into the air around him. Alexander, I whispered,

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kneeling beside him, What have I done? You've brought us time,

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00:28:17.240 --> 00:28:21.400
he said, his voice faint but determined, time to find

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another solution. The entity was it telling the truth about

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why you performed the rituals Pain flashed across his features.

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Partially when I first found the text. When I first

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contacted the entity, my intentions were not pure. The war

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00:28:41.400 --> 00:28:45.319
had shown me how fragile life is, how easily extinguished.

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I wanted to understand death, to master it. He reached

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from my hand, his touch barely perceptible now, But I

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swear to you, Elise. When I understood what the entity

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truly was, what it wanted from world, I tried to

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stop it. The binding ritual was genuine, I believed him,

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00:29:06.599 --> 00:29:10.839
despite everything. I believed him. We need to find that text,

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I said, before tomorrow night. It's our only hope of

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discovering another way to bind the entity without sacrificing you.

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00:29:20.839 --> 00:29:26.720
He nodded, his form strengthening slightly as his determination grew. Yes,

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00:29:27.880 --> 00:29:30.920
and I think, I think I remember where I hid it,

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00:29:32.599 --> 00:29:37.400
Where Alexander's eyes met mine, a spark of the old

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intensity returning to them. The cemetery, my grave. The text

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00:29:43.400 --> 00:29:47.440
is buried with me, The implications of his words sank

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00:29:47.480 --> 00:29:51.920
in slowly. To save Alexander, to defeat the entity, I

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00:29:51.920 --> 00:29:55.720
would have to excavate his grave, disturb his earthly remains,

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to recover the text he had hidden there a century ago.

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I'll do, I said, conviction, hardening my voice. Tonight. As

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soon as I wake, He gathered me into his arms,

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his form solid enough now to provide the comfort of

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his embrace. You are extraordinary, Elise Morgan. Whatever happens tomorrow night,

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know that what I feel for you is real entity

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or no entity, constructed or genuine. My love for you

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00:30:25.559 --> 00:30:29.720
is the most real thing I've experienced in a hundred years. Love.

400
00:30:31.319 --> 00:30:34.799
The word hung between us, both a promise and a farewell,

401
00:30:35.599 --> 00:30:38.720
because we both knew whatever solution we might find in

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00:30:38.759 --> 00:30:42.039
the hidden text, our time together was drawing to a close.

403
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I clung to him, memorizing the feel of his arms

404
00:30:46.319 --> 00:30:50.039
around me, the scent of him, sandalwood and sea air,

405
00:30:50.640 --> 00:30:53.599
the sound of his voice in my ear. If this

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00:30:53.799 --> 00:30:56.440
was to be our last night together, I wanted to

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00:30:56.440 --> 00:31:00.960
make it last. Show me, I whispered, against his lips,

408
00:31:01.599 --> 00:31:05.160
show me that what we have is real. And he did,

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00:31:05.559 --> 00:31:10.599
with exquisite tenderness, with passionate intensity, with a desperation that

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00:31:10.680 --> 00:31:15.079
matched my own. In that dream space between worlds, we

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00:31:15.160 --> 00:31:17.440
made love as if it were both the first and

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00:31:17.559 --> 00:31:22.519
last time. Each touch a revelation, each kiss a vow.

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00:31:24.000 --> 00:31:26.720
As dawn approached and the dream began to fade around us,

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Alexander held me close one final time. Remember, he whispered,

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00:31:33.359 --> 00:31:37.160
no matter what happens, no matter what you discover, I

416
00:31:37.240 --> 00:31:41.440
have loved you across time itself. That truth cannot be undone.

417
00:31:42.400 --> 00:31:44.680
Then he was gone, and I was awake in the

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master bedroom, tears streaming down my face and the first

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00:31:48.400 --> 00:31:51.039
light of what might be our last day together streaming

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00:31:51.079 --> 00:31:57.000
through the windows. The cemetery awaited the grave, the text

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that might save us both or separator forever, and somewhere

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00:32:02.319 --> 00:32:06.599
in the house, watching and waiting, the entity bided its time,

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00:32:07.279 --> 00:32:11.920
confident in my inevitable surrender. It didn't understand what it

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was dealing with. What humans are capable of when they

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00:32:15.200 --> 00:32:18.119
love what I was willing to do for Alexander.

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Romance Weekly is a production of Calaroga Shark Media executive

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00:32:32.799 --> 00:32:36.799
producers Mark Francis and John McDermott. Portions of this podcast

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00:32:36.880 --> 00:32:39.160
may have been created with the assistance of AI

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Calaroga Shark Media