The rain hits the stone. It is cold. You are wet. Your hands are shaking. You hold the lantern. The glass cracks. You drop it. The flame dies. Darkness takes the square.

You run. Your boots slap the mud. You know the way. You have walked it for years. The cobblestones are slick. You stumble. You catch yourself on the wall. The mortar is crumbling. The tower is there. It stands against the sky. It is black. It is old.

You climb. The stairs are narrow. The air is stale. It smells of dust and rot. You push the door. It groans. The hinges scream. You enter the library.

The books are on the shelves. They are bound in leather. The spines are cracked. You look for the one. The book with the red cover. It is on the top shelf. You reach up. Your fingers brush the dust. You pull it down.

You open it. The pages are yellow. The ink is faded. You read. Your eyes burn. The words are clear. They are simple. They are true.

You know what you must do.

You have been here for three days. The villagers are afraid. They do not come near the tower. They whisper in the streets. They say you are mad. They say you are a witch. They say the tower is cursed. They are right. The curse is real. It is in the air. It is in the stones. It is in you.

You close the book. You look at your hands. They are stained. The ink is black. It is under your nails. It is in your veins. You cannot wash it off. You try. You scrub with soap. You scrub with water. The stain remains. It is part of you now.

You must leave. You cannot stay. The knowledge is too heavy. It presses on your chest. It makes it hard to breathe. You put the book back on the shelf. You close the door. You go down the stairs.

The rain has stopped. The air is still. The sky is grey. You walk out into the square. The people are watching. They stand behind their doors. They peek through the cracks. They see you. They step back. You are a stranger. You are a danger.

You walk to the edge of the town. The road goes north. It goes to the mountains. You will go there. You will hide. You will die. It does not matter. You have the book. You have the truth. You are the keeper.

You walk. Your feet hurt. Your back aches. The wind is cold. It cuts through your clothes. You pull your coat tight. The buttons are loose. One hangs by a thread. You stop. You look at the button. It is white. It is round. It is plain.

You remember.

You were young. You were a student. You studied at the college in the city. You were smart. You were eager. You wanted to know. You wanted to understand. The world was a puzzle. You wanted to solve it.

You found the book in the archive. It was hidden. It was lost. The librarian did not know it was there. You found it by accident. You pulled a shelf. The book fell out. It landed on the floor. It made a sound. A thud.

You picked it up. You opened it. You read the first page. Your heart stopped. Your breath caught. The words were fire. They burned. They were beautiful. They were terrible.

You kept reading. You did not sleep. You did not eat. You lived in the archive. You lived in the book. You became the book. The world outside faded. It did not matter. Only the words mattered. Only the truth mattered.

You learned the secret. The secret of the stone. The secret of the rain. The secret of the life. It is a curse. It is a gift. It is both. You cannot have one without the other. To know is to suffer. To suffer is to know.

You tried to tell someone. You went to the master. You were a student. He was your teacher. You respected him. You feared him. You knocked on his door. He opened it. His face was pale. His eyes were dark.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I found it," you said.

"What?"

"The book. The old book. In the archive."

His face changed. It became hard. It became cold. "Give it to me," he said.

"No," you said. "I must keep it."

"You cannot keep it," he said. "It is dangerous. It is evil. Put it back. Forget it. Go."

"No," you said. "I have read it. I know the truth. I cannot forget."

He looked at you. He saw your eyes. He saw the fire in them. He stepped back. He closed the door. You heard the lock turn. You were alone. You were free. You were lost.

You left the city. You came here. To the town. To the tower. You thought you could hide. You thought you could live. You were wrong. The town is small. The people are simple. They do not understand. They do not care. They only fear.

You built the library in the tower. You filled it with books. You copied the pages. You wrote in the margins. You tried to make sense of it. You tried to find a way out. There is no way out. The knowledge is a chain. It binds you. It holds you. It will not let go.

You are tired. You are so tired. Your body is weak. Your mind is sharp. The contrast is painful. You are a scholar. You are a ghost. You are both.

You walk faster. The road is muddy. The hills are steep. You climb. Your lungs burn. Your legs shake. You do not stop. You cannot stop. The book is in your bag. It is heavy. It is light. It is everything.

You reach the top of the hill. You look down. The town is below. It is small. It is dark. The lights are on in the windows. The people are alive. They are happy. They are ignorant. They are free.

You are not free. You are bound. You are the keeper of the curse. You are the vessel of the truth. You must carry it. You must hold it. You must not let it fall.

You look at the sky. It is dark. The stars are out. They are bright. They are cold. They do not care. They do not see. They are far away. You are close. You are here. You are alone.

You sit on the rock. You take out the book. You open it. You read. The wind blows. The pages flutter. You hold them down. You read.

The words are clear. They are simple. They are true.

You know what you must do.

You stand up. You look at the book. You look at your hands. The stain is black. It is under your nails. It is in your veins. You cannot wash it off. You do not try. You do not want to. You accept it. You are it.

You walk down the hill. You go back to the town. You go to the tower. You go to the library. You open the book. You read.

The people are in the square. They are standing in a circle. They are holding candles. They are singing. They are praying. They are afraid. They are angry. They want you to die.

You walk into the square. They stop singing. They look at you. They see your face. They see your eyes. They step back. The candles flicker. The flames bend in the wind.

You do not speak. You do not move. You stand in the center of the circle. You hold the book. You hold the truth. You hold the curse.

The leader steps forward. It is the mayor. He is old. His face is wrinkled. His eyes are hard. He holds a torch. The fire is bright. It is hot. It is angry.

"Give us the book," he says.

"No," you say.

"Give it to us," he says. "Burn it. Destroy it. End the curse."

"No," you say. "It must not be destroyed. It must be kept. It must be read. It must be known."

"You are mad," he says. "You are sick. You are evil."

"I am the keeper," you say. "I am the vessel. I am the truth."

He raises the torch. He throws it. It flies through the air. It spins. It lands near your feet. The fire spreads. It touches the book. The paper catches. It burns. The ink melts. The pages curl.

You watch. You do not move. You do not cry. You do not scream. You watch the book burn. You watch the truth die. You watch the curse break.

The fire dies. The ashes are grey. They are cold. They are nothing. The wind blows them away. They disappear.

The people look at you. They expect you to fall. They expect you to die. They expect you to be broken.

You stand. You are straight. You are still. You look at them. You look at the ashes. You look at the sky.

You are free.

You do not feel free. You feel empty. You feel light. You feel nothing. The weight is gone. The chain is broken. The book is gone. The truth is gone. The curse is gone.

You are just a man. You are just a scholar. You are just a ghost.

You walk out of the square. You walk out of the town. You walk into the dark. You walk into the night. You do not look back. You do not know where you are going. You do not know if you will live. You do not care.

You walk. Your feet are bare. Your skin is cold. The stars are above you. The moon is full. The light is silver. It touches your face. It touches your eyes.

You close your eyes. You breathe. You are here. You are now. You are alone.

You are free.