Prologue
The notebook was closed, as always. Black, worn, with the cover marked by a warning that seemed written in dried blood:
DO NOT READ. DO NOT WRITE. DO NOT LIVE IT.
No one knew who wrote it or why those words seemed to come alive. But there was one thing everyone who had held that notebook could confirm without doubt: it was no ordinary object.
Every time someone opened its pages, the words moved like shadows whispering forbidden secrets. Words that not only told a story but seemed to predict the future, or worse, dictate it.
Those who tried to destroy it found the flames would not consume it. Those who wanted to get rid of it saw it reappear intact, as if the notebook had a will of its own.
And then there was the price. Because whoever wrote in it, in the end, paid with something that could never be recovered: their life, their identity... their soul.
For years, the notebook had been hidden, sleeping in silence, waiting for the next desperate author, the next broken soul who could not resist writing their own story.
Because the notebook is not just a book. It is a trap.
A dark mirror where writers see the worst of themselves reflected.
And a curse that, once unleashed, never turns back.
This is the story of the one who found it.
Of the one who didn’t listen to the warning.
Of the one who, by writing, awakened the Scribe.
And you, reader, are about to discover what happens when a story stops being just fiction.
