I remember the first time I laid eyes on her. The year was 1858, a time when the world was shrouded in darkness, both literally and figuratively. My name is Henry Eldridge, a simple man with simple dreams. I had just returned from my travels across the continent, seeking solace in the arms of my beloved wife, Elizabeth. She was an ethereal beauty, with porcelain skin and raven-black hair that cascaded down her back like a waterfall of silk.
We resided in a grand mansion on the outskirts of London, a place that had once been teeming with life but now stood abandoned, marred by time. The locals whispered tales of its haunted halls and the malevolent spirits that roamed within its walls. Little did they know, the true horrors that lurked beneath its surface.
Elizabeth was well aware of my fascination with the occult, a subject that had consumed my every waking moment. She shared my passion, often assisting me in my research and experiments. Our love was forged through our mutual curiosity and desire to uncover the mysteries of the supernatural.
It was on a cold winter’s night that our lives took a sinister turn. As we sat in our study, surrounded by ancient tomes and flickering candlelight, a mysterious letter arrived. The parchment was worn and aged, the writing delicate yet commanding. It spoke of a secret society known as the Crimson Circle, an elite group of occultists rumored to possess unimaginable power.
Intrigued by the prospect of uncovering hidden knowledge, we agreed to attend a gathering organized by the Crimson Circle. The location was a dilapidated church on the outskirts of town, its crumbling walls a testament to its forgotten glory. We ventured into the depths of this forsaken place, eager to unravel its secrets.
Upon entering, we were greeted by a motley crew of individuals, their eyes gleaming with a wickedness that sent shivers down my spine. The air was thick with an otherworldly energy, a palpable sense of anticipation hung in the air. We were led into a dimly lit chamber, adorned with mystical symbols etched into the stone floor.
The leader of the Crimson Circle, a man by the name of Malachi Blackwood, stood at the center of the room. His piercing gaze seemed to penetrate our very souls as he began to speak. He revealed the true purpose of the society – to harness dark forces and achieve immortality. It was a daunting prospect, one that sent a chill down my spine. But Elizabeth, ever the brave soul, locked eyes with me, her determination unwavering.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months as we delved deeper into Blackwood’s teachings. Elizabeth’s hunger for knowledge surpassed even my own, her thirst for power undeniable. We performed rituals, invoking ancient deities and conjuring spirits from the netherworld. As our powers grew, so did our obsession.
But with power comes a price. Our once blissful existence had turned into a waking nightmare. Shadows danced in the periphery of our vision, whispering malevolent secrets that threatened to consume our sanity. Strange occurrences plagued us – objects moved on their own accord, spectral figures appeared at the foot of our bed, and the very fabric of reality seemed to unravel before our eyes.
It was during one fateful ritual that things spiraled out of control. We had attempted to summon an ancient being known as Cthulhu, an entity said to possess unimaginable power. The room filled with an otherworldly presence, the air thick with an indescribable stench of decay. Elizabeth’s eyes glowed with an unholy light as she chanted the incantation, her voice filled with both fear and excitement.
In that moment, Cthulhu’s immense form materialized before us, a grotesque mixture of tentacles and fangs. The very sight of it sent me into a state of sheer terror, but Elizabeth, consumed by her thirst for power, stood unmoved. She reached out to touch the ancient being, its malevolent aura threatening to swallow her whole.
Before my very eyes, Elizabeth was consumed by the darkness. Her body convulsed, her screams echoing through the chamber as tendrils of shadow enveloped her form. I tried to reach out, to save her from the clutches of this eldritch horror, but it was too late.
As quickly as it had appeared, Cthulhu vanished into thin air, leaving behind a broken man. I was left with the bitter taste of regret and loss, haunted by the choices I had made. The Crimson Circle disbanded soon after, its members scattered to the winds, forever marked by the horrors they had witnessed.
Now, I wander this world alone, a shell of my former self. The mansion stands as a testament to the dark forces we once sought to master, a constant reminder of the price we paid for our curiosity. I often find myself sitting in our old study, surrounded by dusty tomes and flickering candlelight. I can almost hear Elizabeth’s laughter, feel her warmth beside me.
But deep down, I know she is forever lost to the darkness. And so, I continue my solitary existence, haunted by the memories of a love that was consumed by the very shadows we sought to command.
Author: Opney. Illustrator: Stab. Publisher: Cyber.
