Page 78 of Once Upon an Enchanted Castle

She reached for a clean piece of parchment, pulling it to her, then snatched her quill. Taking a deep breath, she slammed open the book and flipped to the page where she had left off earlier that day, trying to make the runes appear and the roses bloom.

Sitting back in the chair, she gripped the quill, waiting, holding her breath. But the pages did not yield any movement.

Frustration edged through her as she leaned forward and peered once again at the page.

“Please,” she whispered. “Show me the way to break the curse.”

Still nothing.

The vines remained in place. The runes did not appear. No letters faded into existence.

She dropped the quill and clenched her fists, pounding them once against the desk on either side of the book with aggravation.

“I know you can hear me,” she said to the book.

The pages didn’t move. The ink didn’t shimmer. The book sat still. Silent as a tomb when she needed it the most. Not even a ghostly whisper in response.

She pressed her palms against the frigid pages, fingers trembling.

“I’ve done all I can. I’ve translated the riddles,” she said, barely holding back the sob. “But I’m running out of time.He’srunning out of time.”

Still nothing. Only the faint rustle of the fire, the distant howl of wind outside the window. The howl of wind and the howl of the beast out there, somewhere, lurking in the shadows. Ever watchful.

Her throat tightened. A nagging pain seized her chest. The threat of tears burned the backs of her eyes.

“I love him.”

The whispered words came out on a quiver. She pressed her cold, shaking fingers against her lips, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Saints preserve me, I love him. Do you hear me?” She cut a glance down at the infernal book. “I don’t know when or how it happened. But it’s real. If there’s anything left of him to save, please.Please,I beg you. Show me how to save him.”

The silence stretched so long it hurt. She dropped her head, her forehead resting against the page.

Then a pulse. Faint, but there. Under her fingertips. Like a heartbeat.

She looked up.

The ink on the page began to shift, vines and thorns and brambles rearranging themselves in slow, deliberate strokes, as if something inside the book stirred. As if her words had reached it. Pierced whatever enchantment kept it sealed and silent.

A single line of new script appeared at the center of the page.

Love is the name the curse could never bind.

Her breath caught.

Below it, more runes took shape. The final key, the last piece of the riddle she hadn’t been able to solve. But now…the book was showing her.

Because now, it believed her.

She snatched up her quill and wrote, fast and furious, before the letters disappeared and were replaced by rose blooms. Her handwriting was awful, but she didn’t care as she scribbled the words. Her hand cramped as she scribed the last few words.

Then she sat back in the chair, staring down at her messy handwriting and reading over it.

One shall bleed, though no wound is seen.

One shall choose, though no path is clear.

To break what binds, name what was given freely.

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