She looked around quickly to see if anything was missing. There was a dark bulge on the floor which wasn’t in the room before, and she couldn’t recognize it, but for now, she let it be. It was too dark to see anyway.
Her eye caught a book, it was sticking out of its usual place on the shelf. Shit. Behind the book, there was a small pouch. She sighed in relief. He didn’t take the runes. The pouch was heavy in her hand, and, after removing it from its place, she saw that there was something in that little dark corner behind the purposefully narrow book, but the shadow was too thick. She had to check the rest of her small bedroom, anyway.
Suddenly, she felt a sharp pull somewhere on her spine. What the… Her hand reflexively reached that spot, but that movement caused another one. She steadied herself, and it ceased.
The large wooden box was sitting under the desk. Inside were candles, different sticks, bones, bundles of different herbs, and a leather-bound book. Everything moved around one at a time, changing places, as she checked if he took something. But it was all there.
Only the altar was left. A small table with circles and triangles drawn on it with a black marker. I never thought it would really work. She crouched. Two candles and a metal bowl were lying on the floor. Blood and wax mixing. The black bulge too close now, hard not to look at. Swiftly, she stood up and immediately cramped up, ready for the pull. Nothing happened.
Tired and hungry, she decided to grab something to eat from the kitchen.
She stopped by the mirror. With the corner of her eye, she could see into it. But something was very wrong. Her mind was sending her short panic impulses even before she realized. Slowly turning her head towards the glass, she gasped, silently.
There was one thing missing.
Her entire body.
And behind, where her reflection should be, she saw thin purple and black shadows stretching downward, she felt the pulling, the pain. And down, down, she went.
Words of a Feather 