Cardinal Vincenzo’s fingers trembled as he flipped through the yellowed pages of *Les Propheties*, sharp eyes scanning the cryptic symbols of Nostradamus. Candlelight flickered, casting long, distorted shadows on the stone walls of the Vatican’s ancient library. Cold floors pressed against his feet, each movement echoing in the silence where the scent of old books and incense clung to the air. A glance over his shoulder revealed the heavy wooden door, its hinges creaking under the weight of his unease. Skepticism had guided him for years, yet an unsettling truth clawed at him—the prophecy was no longer a relic of the past; it was alive.
"Cardinal," a voice rasped from the doorway.
Father Matteo, draped in dark robes, lingered on the threshold. Gaunt features betrayed exhaustion, his hollowed eyes fixed on Vincenzo. "Is it true? About the Pope?"
Vincenzo hesitated, fingers clenching into a fist. *Peter the Roman will rise.* The words bled through his mind, each syllable an iron weight. "He’s slipping," he murmured, voice hoarse. "Doctors claim improvement, but something doesn’t sit right."
Matteo stepped closer, the dim candlelight illuminating the deep furrows of his brow. "Rumors slither through the halls. The Vatican shudders under their weight. They say—"
"They say too much," Vincenzo snapped, though doubt gnawed at him. Heavy velvet drapes parted under his grip, revealing Rome’s skyline swallowed in mist. Streets lay eerily silent, no distant chatter, no echo of footsteps. Even St. Peter’s Square gaped empty, air thick with expectancy.
Matteo’s whisper broke through the stillness. "The Black Cassocks have been watching the Pope."
Vincenzo stiffened. "Watching?"
Matteo hesitated, glancing toward the door. "They believe prophecy is upon us. When the Pope’s heart ceases, *Peter the Roman* ascends. With him, an ancient reckoning."
A distant bell tolled, its resonance weaving through the marble corridors. Cold pressed against Vincenzo’s spine. Air thickened, an unseen weight settling over them. Then, a deep, guttural tremor rattled through the floor.
"You hear it?" Vincenzo’s voice barely rose above a whisper.
Matteo nodded, fingers pressing into his robe. The sound stretched through the Vatican’s bones—a low, reverberating groan, as if something beneath had woken.
A cry shattered the silence. Footsteps pounded against stone. Shadows flickered beyond the door, black robes sweeping through the corridor. The Black Cassocks moved with purpose, their presence no longer hidden.
One figure stepped forward. Gaunt, pale, with hollow eyes carved from darkness. Lips curled into a knowing smile.
"It has begun."
Vincenzo’s pulse thundered.
The prophecy no longer slept. An ancient force had stirred, and Rome would never be the same.
Exciting news! My book, Cumberland Chronicles at Books2Read, is now available! If you enjoy the supernatural, horror, and the weird, I’d love for you to check it out. Even if it’s not your thing, a quick share would help me reach the right readers. Thank you for the support!
No comments:
Post a Comment