The Cost Of Magic
There is nothing to magic. There is no taxonomy. There is no list of ingredients, nor chants, nor rites. There is only a cost. And that is never known, but always paid.
That was the entirety of the book. It was repeated on page after page after page. And even more pages were left blank. Thauren flipped back forth and only after careful study noticed the slight differences in handwriting. Each page was written by a different author, as if to reiterate what previous entrants had stated.
She closed the book with a sigh. It was not what she expected. It was nothing. And she said as much. “What am I supposed to do with this.” But no one answered. The musty old room ignored her as its owner had ignored it. Leaving Thauren to decide what to do.
Thoughts of power, retribution, opulence crossed her mind. And then scurried away like mice as she tried to grab hold of them. The world had seen great magics. It’d been shaped by such, but nothing Thauren found in the dusty old book told her what it took to wield them.
Neither blood, nor sacrifice, nor gold, nor tears seemed to provide a path. Depravation, or solitude were just as empty. And Thauren was left wondering why.
Today’s art is courtesy of Pablo Munoz Gomez from Melbourne, Australia.