Okay, so quick update: turns out, waking up with a mysterious sigil burned into your hand after being yeeted into the void by a shadowy figure might have consequences. Who knew, right?
Spoiler alert: It's not great.
Let me walk you through my morning:
I woke up feeling like I'd been trampled by a herd of stampeding centaurs (zero stars, would not recommend), only to discover that the sigil wasn't just there—it was glowing. Faint, but definitely glowing. Like some sort of magical Bluetooth connection, except instead of music, it's streaming existential dread straight into my soul.
Naturally, my first instinct was to cover it with a glove and pretend it wasn't happening. That worked for about ten seconds until Star decided my hand was his new chew toy. (Seriously, this rabbit is out for blood.)
Anyway, after prying Star off my hand and bribing him with half a carrot, I did what any responsible person would do:
I went to the library.
Library Shenanigans and the Ancient Librarian of Doom
Our library is, to put it mildly, ridiculous. It's got that whole "ancient and mystical" vibe down to an art. Spiral staircases. Floating books. The whole place smells like old parchment and subtle judgement.
Now, the head librarian? Her name's Madam Elora, and I'm convinced she was personally forged by the gods to strike fear into the hearts of students. She's like 4'11", always dressed in dark robes, and somehow manages to make you feel like you've committed a crime just by existing in her presence.
So, I stroll up to her desk, trying to act casual. (This failed immediately.)
"Hey, Madam Elora!" I said, voice cracking like a cursed lute. "Quick question. How would one, hypothetically, remove a glowing sigil from their hand before it potentially explodes or opens a portal to the nether realm?"
She stared at me over her glasses. You know the look. The one that makes you rethink your life choices.
"Show me," she said.
So I did. And that's when things got worse.
Her eyes widened. She grabbed my hand, muttered something in a language that sounded suspiciously like a curse, and then promptly yanked a dusty old tome from the shelf behind her. She flipped it open to a page that was… oh yeah, DEFINITELY bad news.
Because smack in the middle of that page? Same sigil.
"Ah," she said. "That's unfortunate."
Excuse me?? UNFORTUNATE?? Madam, I'm sorry, but I feel like we've passed the 'unfortunate' threshold and are firmly in catastrophic disaster territory.
"Cool, cool, cool," I said. "And by 'unfortunate,' you mean…?"
She closed the book with a dramatic thump and gave me the kind of look you give someone who's just admitted to licking a cursed artifact.
"It means," she said, "that you've been marked."
"Marked for what?"
"For a trial," she said. "The kind very few survive."
"Awesome," I said, resisting the urge to scream into the void. "That's exactly the kind of positive encouragement I needed today."
The First Symptom of Being Marked? Hallucinations. Probably.
So, I left the library feeling super confident about my future (that's a lie), only to discover that things had escalated again.
Because the moment I stepped outside, the world got… weird.
The sky? Wrong. The clouds were twisting, coiling unnaturally. Shadows stretched toward me like they were reaching. The cobblestones beneath my feet whispered.
And then I saw them.
Figures in the distance. Tall. Hooded. The same kind of figure from the void. Just standing there. Watching.
I blinked. They were gone.
Nope. Nope nope nope. This is above my magical pay grade.
So, obviously, I did what any brave hero would do: I turned around and went straight to the tavern.
Emergency Strategy: Alcohol and Poor Choices
The tavern was packed. Rowdy. The kind of place where you could easily pretend you weren't marked for mystical doom. I shoved my way to the bar, slapped a coin down, and ordered something strong enough to erase memory.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," said the bartender, a burly guy named Rollo.
"Close enough," I muttered, downing the drink in one go. Mistake. Immediate mistake. My throat burned like I'd swallowed liquid fire. Pretty sure I transcended time and space for a second.
And then I felt it.
The sigil on my hand flared. The room tilted. My vision doubled. And suddenly, the hooded figure from the void was sitting on the barstool next to me.
"You again," I croaked.
"You're not ready," they said.
"Yeah, you mentioned that."
They leaned closer. "Then get ready. Fast."
And just like that—poof—they were gone.
Current Status: Screwed.
So, to recap:
1. Definitely cursed.
2. Marked for some kind of mysterious trial.
3. Haunted by void figures who apparently have opinions about my level of readiness.
4. Pretty sure I'm either hallucinating or dying. Possibly both.
Anyway, that's where I'm at. I think I need a nap. Or maybe another drink. Or an exorcism.
Catch you later. Assuming I survive.