#mistakes made

What else was there to say? I couldn’t explain how I had to touch the block, how I felt like I had to accept the offer from the thing inside, how it had answered my prayers for months, how it had replaced my goddesses without my knowledge. I couldn’t explain how I would rather die than fulfill my promise. I couldn’t kill myself before it made me into a monster; that might fulfill the bargain, in a twisted sort of way. Kill one who holds you in trust and reverence, then die by the hand of hatred. I was pretty sure she did not hate me. I was pretty sure that if she killed me, I wouldn’t be able to fulfill the terms of the deal.

What are you doing, little bird? the voices around me seemed to whisper, in Nyshka’s voice, Poetry’s voice, Jarek’s voice, Strahd’s voice. You don’t regret your promise, do you? You don’t regret your beautiful destiny?

I choked on a sob, pulled my cloak tighter around me. “We’re coming, sweetness,” Ludmilla said, but I wasn’t sure if it was really her voice or if it was the voice of that thing. I closed my eyes. I couldn’t shut out the voices, the laughter. It wanted me to kill Nyshka, to die by Jarek’s sword, to rise again and become something terrible. I could do it. I could see how, so very easily. I had a dagger, and Nyshka would never expect me to slit her throat as she lay sleeping, trusting me to keep watch against the night. It would wake her husband, but by then it would be too late. Jarek would hate me. He would kill me. I would not die. I would never die.

Bile rose in my throat. I staggered and fell forwards, crouched on the floor in front of the glowing block. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. If I moved, if I let it have what it wanted…

A clawed hand gripped my shoulder. “Volenta? What’s going on? How — why are you here?” Ludmilla stood behind me, somehow.

“It made me come!” I choked out. I pointed to the chunk of amber. “It wants me. It wants to make me like you. It wants me to kill them.”

“Kill us,” Nyshka’s voice said. “Claim your power.”

“Live forever,” Poetry’s voice said.

“Love forever,” my mother’s voice said.

“Become what you were always meant to be,” father said.

“I won’t!” I screamed. I nearly tried to punch, to destroy, to fight the block of amber but pulled back just before I could touch the hateful thing. I turned towards Ludmilla’s voice. “I would rather die. I can’t. Please, don’t let me do what it wants. Help me.”

“There is nothing you can do for her,” Strahd said. His tone was cold, emotionless. It had none of the dark god’s laughing madness. He was here and real. That probably wasn’t a good thing.

“Milord, what’s happening to her?” Ludmilla pulled me towards her, away from the amber. She picked me up as if I weighed nothing at all. “Who was she talking to? What is this place?”

“There are no gods in Barovia,” Strahd said. “Only death. The only thing you can do for her is drain her dry. Claim her will as I claimed you.” He came closer. I could see him over Ludmilla’s shoulder. I could not quite make out her features in the dim glow of the amber, but the contrasting colors of Strahd’s features showed me a face nearly devoid of expression. “Or kill her,” he added, after a moment. “The little bird has broken her wings. She won’t fight us, will you?” His claws stroked my jaw. I shuddered, but could barely move. There was no point.

Ludmilla shook her head. I heard her beaded braids click together. “It would be better to be dead than what you made me,” she said. “But no. Milord, we have another option. We need to know how to make more of our kind.”

“Death won’t appreciate that,” Strahd said. He raised an eyebrow. “Nevertheless. You have a point. If you want to keep your little pet, you can certainly try.”

“I require your expertise,” Ludmilla said. “Milord, please.” She lowered me to the marble floor. Strahd knelt beside us. His expression did not change. To me, Ludmilla said, “I won’t let anything claim you, sweetness. Whatever this is, it cannot defeat us.” She was wrong. I knew she was wrong. My laughter matched its laughter, swirling around the frozen chamber. Ludmilla’s head whipped towards her husband in something like panic. He sighed, then grabbed my hand. He yanked off my glove, pulled my wrist to his lips. My laughter turned to a scream of pain at his bite. This was not Ludmilla, charming me in a warm castle. This was my life and he would claim it. Ludmilla frowned, then joined her husband in my murder. Her fangs pierced my throat, just above where her last bite had finally faded.

If I could not claim Nyshka’s soul, I would die an agonizing death as forfeit.

My vision began to grey at the edges. “Open your mouth, pet,” Strahd commanded. I don’t know if I complied. I tasted something. It burned like whisky, made me choke and jerk despite my failing strength. This brought a fresh wave of pain from the fangs in my throat. “Drink, pet,” Strahd ordered. I was dying. My friends would never know what became of me.

The pain in my neck receded. I heard Ludmilla. “You must drink, sweetness,” she said. “Or when you die, you will become a slave.”

“How much does she need, I wonder?” Strahd asked. My mouth was full of the burning liquid. I could feel it in my nose, my eyes, my throat, my stomach. I was on fire. “You barely required anything.”

“She might still have too much of her own blood.”

“Perhaps; that’s something easily remedied. Move, Ludmilla.”

This is a step that went perfect when adding the paper, I have rarely gotten my paper on so neatly!

Naturally I botched everygthing else... First came the gilded lines. I figured with enough pressure I can mask any possible skew of the paper by covering it with a gilded line. I picked the colour that went best with the paper and got started.

I’ve seen and and done it on leather often enough. Turns out, that doesn’t work with cloth!

At least now I knew what to look for when adding a line to the corners... (That went great by the way. With only magnets and no other support to keep the case in place and still, lines right where I meant them to be!)

I decided to think of a fix later and add the spine title first. I set the title, did my test print, arranged the case and stamped the title on. I even did some acrobatics letter-wise because there was only one X in lead letter assortment.

I have no idea how I did not see there’s a word missing. (It’s supposed to read ‘Das Schloß in der Höhle Xa Xa’!)

Now that I was already fixing...  I tried to paint over the dotted fabric with acrylic paint, which, naturally, didn’t stick very well, but enough to take the harsh sheen off. Naturally I caused some more unevenness by getting paint on the parts I wanted to keep...  so I hot stamped over it again with a thinner line. This time being careful to stay on the paper.

Then I glued another strip of paper over the spine (I’ve seen this done for notebooks, but sadly forgot by whom :/) Who needs titles anyway? I’ll recognise this book in an instant on any shelf even without one!

Considering all that I think I turned out rather neat.