I Am the Grimoire

Red Neptune

Vesper Thorn

Red Neptune

industrial, darkwave, multi-genre synthesis

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It begins the way all transformations begin:
With something small.
A paper cut that doesn't bleed red
But bleeds INK.

I watch my blood turn black on the bedsheet.
Not disease — METAMORPHOSIS.
My skin is changing texture.
Fingerprints fading.
Replaced by... text.

I hold my arm up to the candlelight
And I can read the words appearing on my flesh:
"Chapter Fourteen: The Becoming."

The grimoire isn't in my hands anymore.
It's in my SKIN.

Catalog the changes — second transformation:
First the manor claimed me — now the book's migration
INTO my body, INTO my bones
My skeleton's becoming the grimoire's backbone — THRONE

My ribs are pages — count them — twelve on each side
Twenty-four pages of scripture I can't hide
My spine is binding — leather-hard and BLACK
Stitched together — there is NO going back

My eyes are illustrations — moving, colored, BRIGHT
Illuminated manuscripts that glow at night
My hair is ribbon bookmarks — red and gold
Marking chapters in a story centuries old

My teeth are letters — when I speak I SPELL
Literal incantations — heaven-sent from hell
My tongue is the index — lick my lips and FIND
Every ritual cataloged in Thornwood's mind

I AM THE GRIMOIRE
THE GRIMOIRE IS ME
EVERY PAGE IS WRITTEN
IN MY ANATOMY

I AM THE RITUAL
THE SPELL AND THE COST
I AM THE KNOWLEDGE
THAT WAS NEVER LOST

DON'T MOURN THE WOMAN —
SHE WAS JUST THE DRAFT
THE BOOK IS THE FINAL VERSION —
AFTERMATH OF THE AFTERMATH

I DON'T CONTAIN THE MAGIC —
I AM MAGIC CONTAINED
IN FLESH THAT READS LIKE PARCHMENT
IN BLOOD THAT WRITES LIKE RAIN

And in the pages of myself I find
A kind of peace I thought I'd left behind
I'm not a woman anymore — I'm MORE
I'm every Thornwood secret, every floor

Every recipe for poison, every prayer
Every waltz the corpses danced, I'm THERE
Written in the margins of my palms
I am the book of curses and of psalms

The next one who finds me — and they will —
Will open my cover and feel the chill
Of centuries of knowledge, love, and dread
Bound together in a book that bled

And I will teach them as I was taught
By blood and thorn and grimoire-wrought
Instruction — patient, cruel, and true —
I am the book. And I am reading YOU.

I — am — the — page — you're — reading — now
I — am — the — ink — that — shows — you — how
I — am — the — binding — and — the — spine
I — am — the — blood — between — the — lines

"Open me..."
"...read my chapters..."
"...learn my rituals..."
"...cut where I tell you..."
"...the first cut is the left palm..."
"...the garden grows endings..."
"...the dead will answer..."
"...when called..."

I am the Bloodbound Grimoire.
I was Vesper Thorn.
The next reader is already walking
toward Thornwood Manor.

I can feel their blood from here.
It sings the same song mine did.

Come.
Read me.
Begin.

2766/7500

It begins the way all transformations begin: With something small. A paper cut that doesn't bleed red But bleeds INK. I watch my blood turn black on the bedsheet. Not disease — METAMORPHOSIS. My skin is changing texture. Fingerprints fading. Replaced by... text. I hold my arm up to the candlelight And I can read the words appearing on my flesh: "Chapter Fourteen: The Becoming." The grimoire isn't in my hands anymore. It's in my SKIN. Catalog the changes — second transformation: First the manor claimed me — now the book's migration INTO my body, INTO my bones My skeleton's becoming the grimoire's backbone — THRONE My ribs are pages — count them — twelve on each side Twenty-four pages of scripture I can't hide My spine is binding — leather-hard and BLACK Stitched together — there is NO going back My eyes are illustrations — moving, colored, BRIGHT Illuminated manuscripts that glow at night My hair is ribbon bookmarks — red and gold Marking chapters in a story centuries old My teeth are letters — when I speak I SPELL Literal incantations — heaven-sent from hell My tongue is the index — lick my lips and FIND Every ritual cataloged in Thornwood's mind I AM THE GRIMOIRE THE GRIMOIRE IS ME EVERY PAGE IS WRITTEN IN MY ANATOMY I AM THE RITUAL THE SPELL AND THE COST I AM THE KNOWLEDGE THAT WAS NEVER LOST DON'T MOURN THE WOMAN — SHE WAS JUST THE DRAFT THE BOOK IS THE FINAL VERSION — AFTERMATH OF THE AFTERMATH I DON'T CONTAIN THE MAGIC — I AM MAGIC CONTAINED IN FLESH THAT READS LIKE PARCHMENT IN BLOOD THAT WRITES LIKE RAIN And in the pages of myself I find A kind of peace I thought I'd left behind I'm not a woman anymore — I'm MORE I'm every Thornwood secret, every floor Every recipe for poison, every prayer Every waltz the corpses danced, I'm THERE Written in the margins of my palms I am the book of curses and of psalms The next one who finds me — and they will — Will open my cover and feel the chill Of centuries of knowledge, love, and dread Bound together in a book that bled And I will teach them as I was taught By blood and thorn and grimoire-wrought Instruction — patient, cruel, and true — I am the book. And I am reading YOU. I — am — the — page — you're — reading — now I — am — the — ink — that — shows — you — how I — am — the — binding — and — the — spine I — am — the — blood — between — the — lines "Open me..." "...read my chapters..." "...learn my rituals..." "...cut where I tell you..." "...the first cut is the left palm..." "...the garden grows endings..." "...the dead will answer..." "...when called..." I am the Bloodbound Grimoire. I was Vesper Thorn. The next reader is already walking toward Thornwood Manor. I can feel their blood from here. It sings the same song mine did. Come. Read me. Begin.

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