Long ago, in the mist-veiled lands of Thaloria, there lived a girl whose heart had shattered beyond repair.
She had watched her family die—one by one—torn away by war, betrayal, and the cruelty of humankind. Grief consumed her. And when no one listened to her cries...
Something else did.
One night, beneath a weeping tree, as she sobbed into the cold earth, a voice—low, ancient, and without a face—whispered from the dark.
> "Don't cry. Hate."
"Do you want revenge?"
She didn't answer at first. Only silence. Only the flicker of rage in her eyes.
Then softly—coldly—she whispered back:
> "Yes. I want to kill them all."
The voice responded with a promise.
But also... a price.
> "Then I shall help you. But nothing comes without sacrifice."
From the shadows, it offered her a book.
Black. Blank. Bound in something that pulsed faintly... like flesh.
As her fingers touched it, the voice murmured again—closer this time, as if brushing her ear.
> "Its name is Lingua Mortem..."
The Tongue of Death.
"It speaks only when you write your hate."
And so she wrote.
Names. Faces. Methods. Vengeance.
A tale of death by whispers.
A curse for every careless tongue.
She titled it: The Witch's Whisper.
And when she finished... she walked into the city.
She didn't scream.
She didn't shout.
She simply whispered:
> "Kill them all…"
Again. And again.
And the people began to fall.
Some clutched their throats as if choked by invisible hands.
Others spoke her name—and their tongues split open like cursed fruit.
Mouths bled. Eyes rolled. Voices cracked.
And with every whisper... another soul died.
By morning, the city was silent.
A graveyard of secrets and severed breath.
The girl was gone.
Some say she burned with the curse.
Others say the demon reclaimed her soul.
But her story—The Witch's Whisper—was never found.
It vanished with her, as if erased from time itself.
Yet the book… the one given by the demon…
> Remained.
Still black. Still blank.
Still pulsing.
Sealed. Hidden. Forgotten.
Until someone found it again.