fear was silence. Kyre stood by her window speechless. He didn't move. He just watched her closely as if seeing her wasn't satisfying. As if he had been waiting for her all through his

it's coming alive". Aerin shook her head, moving backwards until her spine hit the wall. "You're crazy. This...this isn't real. It's just a figment of your imagination". Aerin's gaze dropped to her wrist where the crescent shaped scar had begun to glow again. Kyre's eyes caught the scar on her wrist, his expression darkening. "She marked you. That scar is more than a symbol. It's a reference to the past, to the curse... to me." Aerin grew more confused by every word he said. Her pulse pounded in her ears. She turned toward her dresser mirror, desperate to see herself , but her reflection looked like a strange. Her eyes were too bright, her skin too pale, her breath hot. "Why are you here now?". "I'm here because the moon is almost near." Kyre said. "And if we don't stop the curse, I won't just lose my humanity. I'll lose everything." Those words sent shivers down her spine. The window was open, the curtains swaying the night breeze. Kyre vanished into the night, leaving Aerin with more questions than answers. The silence returned, heavy and watching. She couldn't sleep all night. She kept on thinking about what Kyre said. "What's this curse about? How I'm i to break it? Who's this Teresa? What's my connection with her? And what's with this scar?. These were her thoughts. By morning, her skin still tingled with the traces of magic. The journal on her desk seemed to hold secrets. She had not touched it. But there it was. It's pages turned, it's ink still fresh. A new entry had appeared. *He will come to you in the night. Do not send him away.* "Hmm" Aerin shook her head, slammed the journal shut and shoved it under a pile of dusty poetry anthologies. The day was dull at Whispers & Ink library. Customer trooped in and out, but they barely looked at her. The townspeople moved around like smoke, like they sensed the change before she did. Even Mara, the cheerful herbalist who usually brought her tea avoided her gaze that morning. Aerin couldn't understand the cause for their awkward behavior. "What's up with everyone today?" Aerin questioned. She tried to focus on her tasks, re-shelving tittles, dusting the books and taking inventory. But her thoughts drifted. The scar on her wrist burned beneath the bandage. She was conscious of everything: the sound made by the ticking clock, the creak of floor boards upstairs, the weight of the journal still in her bag. Then the door creaked open again. And Old Finch entered in. For years Finch had not set foot in the shop. N