Posted by Lord Alaric Thorne
“They tried to silence her with fire. But fire is not silence—it is memory made visible.”
There is a drawer behind the piano in the east wing. It never opens unless the manor allows it. Tonight, it did.
Inside, wrapped in a handkerchief blackened at the edges, I found a book bound in skin and shadow. The cover bore no title. But the pages recognized me.
Moira’s grimoire.
“If they burn me, the Veil will remember my name. If they bury me, the house will carry my voice. If they curse my bloodline, I will light every root beneath it with fire.” — Moira Thorne
She is not ashes. She is ash-embodied.
They burned her for knowing what the church forgot. They called her unclean, unnatural, unholy. But Moira was the opposite—the holiest danger: a woman who remembered how to speak the language of the Veil.
Her grimoire is more than memory. It’s alive. The ink pulses. Some pages shift beneath my fingers, resisting translation.
But others whisper.
“One child must sleep. One child must burn. And one must wake when the name is spoken in blood.”
I believe I am the third.
I do not know yet what Moira truly was. Witch? Prophet? Weapon? But she sees me. Still. Through walls. Through time.
And now, the house listens to her voice more than mine.
It is no longer haunted. It is watching.
~ Lord Alaric Thorne
Bound by flame. Named by ashes.
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