Part 1 :-
Chapter 1: Jia’s Heartache
Jia sat in her small apartment, surrounded by the faint scent of his cologne that lingered on the pillow, his old sweatshirt tossed carelessly across the couch. Every corner seemed to whisper his name, and every object reminded her of the love she had lost. The breakup had torn her apart, leaving an aching hole in her chest that she couldn’t escape.
She missed his touch—the way his fingers had felt on her skin, the warmth of his embrace. Even the thought of his deep, soothing voice felt like a lifeline she couldn’t grasp anymore. There were days she felt like she could still hear his laugh echoing in the background, or smell the faint trace of his aftershave as if he were right next to her. But he wasn’t.
Days turned to weeks, and Jia found herself spiraling deeper into sadness. No matter how many times she tried to push the memories aside, they kept resurfacing like an unwanted visitor she couldn’t shake.
One afternoon, she felt a surge of frustration, fed up with her own grief. “I need something to distract myself,” she thought. After a moment of deliberation, she grabbed her coat, determined to get out of the apartment for a while.
Chapter 2: The Withered Library
Jia walked through the rainy streets of the city, her boots splashing in the puddles, until she reached a part of the town she hadn’t visited before. Nestled between narrow alleys and forgotten streets was an old, crumbling building — a library. Its windows were clouded with years of grime, and the once-grand sign hanging above the door was barely visible, the paint peeling away like the pages of a forgotten book.
The Amravati City Library was a place Jia had heard of in passing, but never considered stepping into. Now, it seemed like the perfect escape.
She pushed open the heavy door, the creak echoing through the silence of the building. A musty smell hit her nose as soon as she stepped inside — the smell of old books, dust, and forgotten memories. The walls were lined with tall, sagging bookshelves, some of which leaned precariously to one side. Dim light flickered from old lamps mounted on the walls, casting long, eerie shadows across the rows of books.
“Hello?” Jia called, but the sound of her voice swallowed by the vast emptiness. She glanced around, but there was no sign of a librarian or anyone else. She was alone.
Drawn by an inexplicable pull, Jia wandered deeper into the library. As she passed the shelves, she noticed many of the books were frayed and falling apart. The place felt like it had been abandoned for decades. Finally, her eyes settled on a thick, leather-bound volume sitting on a wooden pedestal, its pages yellowed with age.
The cover read: “Stories from Real Incidences”.
It seemed almost as if the book was waiting for her to pick it up. With trembling hands, Jia opened the cover and began to read.
Chapter 3: The Queen’s Tale
The story began in a distant kingdom, centuries ago. The kingdom of Amravati, ruled by a queen who had the rare gift of foresight. Her name was Queen Amravati, and she was both revered and feared by her people. It was said that she could see into the future, predict the coming of prosperity or calamity, and steer her kingdom toward success. For a time, she was celebrated as a goddess.
But that was before the darkness came.
Amravati’s power, which was once seen as a divine gift, began to show a darker side. Her predictions turned grim. She foretold a terrible drought that would devastate the kingdom, leading to famine and death. She predicted the fall of the crops, the plague that would sweep across the lands, and even the death of those closest to the royal family. With each warning, the people grew anxious, fearful, and angry.
For a long while, the court had trusted her, even worshiped her. But as her predictions grew darker, so did their attitudes. Whispers began to spread through the kingdom — the queen was no longer seen as a benevolent goddess, but as a witch, a harbinger of doom.
The king, who had once been her closest ally, began to distance himself from her. The people, who had once adored her, now turned their backs. No one wanted to hear her prophetic visions anymore. They wanted hope, not despair.
Then came the worst prophecy of all. The king’s mother, a frail woman who had been by the queen’s side through thick and thin, fell ill with a high fever. Her condition worsened by the day, and despite the best healers in the kingdom, she died within a week.
The king, grief-stricken and desperate, accused Amravati of cursing his mother, of bringing the plague that had claimed her life. He was consumed by rage. He called together his ministers, and they, too, saw the queen’s powers as unnatural.
“She is evil. She has brought this curse upon us. She must be punished.” The ministers spoke, each word laced with fear and suspicion.
The king, now blinded by grief and rage, listened to their counsel. He condemned Queen Amravati for her supposed role in the death of his mother. The people, now stirred up by the whispers and accusations, turned on her completely.
Amravati was bound and taken to the execution chamber. The room, cold and dark, smelled of burning wood and death. The crowd outside, hungry for revenge, jeered and threw stones at her.
Amravati was burned alive. But as the flames consumed her body, she screamed a terrible curse, one that would haunt the kingdom for centuries to come.
Chapter 4: The Curse of Amravati
The story in the book continued, but Jia felt her breath catch in her throat. She couldn’t stop reading. The words pulled her deeper, and she was no longer aware of the library around her. Her fingers trembled as she flipped the pages.
The curse, it seemed, was real.
After Amravati’s death, the kingdom fell into chaos. The drought that she had foretold came to pass, followed by famine, disease, and death. The crops withered in the fields, and the people starved. The kingdom that had once thrived now lay in ruin.
But what truly terrified Jia was the final sentence of the story.
“Her spirit never left the kingdom. The queen’s curse lingered, twisting the fate of those who crossed her path. Anyone who dared to seek her power, anyone who touched her legacy, would become her next victim.”
Jia’s heart pounded in her chest. She felt a chill run through her spine. The words on the page began to blur, and she looked around, trying to focus. But the library was no longer quiet. The air felt thick, oppressive. The shadows in the corners of the room seemed to grow darker, almost as though they were alive, creeping closer.
And then, she heard it.
A whisper. Soft at first, but growing louder.
“Jia.”
It came from behind her, followed by a cold breeze that swept across her neck, sending shivers down her spine.
She spun around. There was no one there.
Her breath hitched as she tried to shake off the feeling, but the whispers continued. “Jia. You know what you have done. You cannot escape.”
Jia’s heart thudded in her chest. She dropped the book and stumbled back, but her eyes were drawn to the dark corners of the library, where shadows twisted and swirled like something alive, waiting to claim her.
She turned to run, but the door slammed shut, trapping her inside.
Chapter 5: The Queen’s Return
Jia didn’t know how long she had been running through the maze of bookshelves, her feet stumbling over the old, crooked floors. Her mind was in a haze—the curse was real. Amravati’s curse had found her.
As she turned a corner, she saw something impossible. In the farthest corner of the library, a woman stood, her figure shrouded in darkness. Her eyes glowed like molten gold, her face pale and twisted in a permanent, unnatural smile.
“Amravati?” Jia whispered, her voice trembling.
The woman stepped forward, and as she did, the air grew colder, heavier. Jia felt her chest tighten as if something was trying to crush her.
“You shouldn’t have opened the book.” Amravati’s voice echoed, hollow and distant, but it felt all too real.
Jia fell to her knees. The library around her started to warp, the shelves bending, the walls shaking. And in that moment, Jia knew—the curse wasn’t just about the queen’s death. It was about her unfinished vengeance. And Jia was now a part of it.
Part 2 :-
“The Queen’s Wrath – Part 2”
Chapter 1: The Return of the Past
Jia hadn’t slept in days. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt the cold grip of Amravati’s spirit tightening around her. The whispers were no longer just a faint echo in her mind; they were a constant presence, louder and more insistent. “Revenge. Revenge.” The words repeated like a mantra, guiding her thoughts toward a singular purpose.
She hadn’t understood it at first—why she felt so out of control, why her thoughts seemed to betray her, but the pieces started falling into place as the days passed. Amravati’s soul, the vengeful queen, was taking over. Her body, her mind, her every action were no longer her own.
But it wasn’t just about the kingdom anymore. It wasn’t just about the death of the queen or her fiery end. Amravati’s curse had a more personal vendetta—one that intertwined with Jia’s broken heart.
It was all connected to Rohan.
Rohan’s family was the last surviving branch of the royal bloodline, the descendants of the very king who had condemned Amravati to death. Jia’s mind swirled with the realization — the queen’s wrath was not satisfied by her own death; she wanted to wipe out the last remnants of the king’s family.
And now, those people were Rohan’s family.
Chapter 2: The Unholy Connection
Jia couldn’t escape the urge to reach out to Rohan. The memories of their love were like open wounds, raw and bleeding. She missed him. Amravati’s rage intertwined with Jia’s sorrow, creating a twisted craving to see him again. She couldn’t explain why she felt this pull, but her fingers found themselves typing out a message to him one cold evening.
“Rohan, I need to see you.”
The response came faster than she expected.
“Jia… Is it really you? Where have you been?”
Her heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t heard from him in months—not since their breakup. The floodgates opened, and she felt the warmth of his words suffocating her with both longing and dread. Amravati was awake now, guiding her actions, manipulating her emotions, and she couldn’t tell if her feelings for Rohan were genuine or simply a part of the queen’s revenge-driven plan.
But Jia couldn’t stop herself.
“Please, I need to explain… I can’t live without you.” She typed, almost pleading.
It wasn’t just her words. It was Amravati’s voice speaking through her—her desire for vengeance masked as love.
Chapter 3: The Meeting
They agreed to meet at the old park where they used to go for walks together. Jia hadn’t seen him in months, but when she walked up to him, a familiar pain sliced through her chest. Rohan looked as good as he ever had, maybe even more handsome, the weight of their breakup not seeming to have affected him as much as it had affected her.
But there was something off about him. His eyes were distant, searching, as though he was trying to piece together the puzzle of who Jia had become.
“Jia, I don’t understand. Why did you leave? I thought we were—”
The words caught in her throat. Jia wanted to answer, but Amravati’s spirit was in control. Her body trembled as she tried to speak, the words coming out not her own.
“Rohan, I never left you… I was always here. You just never saw me.“
Her voice was low, almost eerie. Rohan took a step back, eyes widening.
“What do you mean? You’ve been gone for months, Jia. I’ve moved on.” His words hit her like a slap, but they also stirred something in her—a fury, an ache that wasn’t hers. Amravati’s rage was slowly consuming her, and now, the queen’s intentions began to bleed through.
“No… No, you haven’t,” she whispered, her tone turning cold. “You don’t even know what you’ve done.”
Rohan stared at her, confused and a little frightened. “What are you talking about?”
And then, Amravati’s power fully took over. Jia felt her body move without her will. The claws of vengeance dug into her, and in an instant, her hands wrapped around Rohan’s throat. Her eyes, once full of grief, now glowed with an unnatural malice, an ancient, murderous rage.
Rohan gasped, struggling to break free, but it was too late. Amravati’s vengeance was swift. The last of the king’s bloodline was snuffed out in an instant.
Chapter 4: The Aftermath
Jia woke up hours later, sprawled on the cold ground of the park, her hands covered in blood. She felt like she had been drowning in her own skin. When she looked around, the weight of what had just happened hit her like a freight train. Rohan was gone.
She tried to scream, but her throat was raw, as if she had already tried to do so. The once-familiar park now felt like a foreign, desolate place. Jia stumbled to her feet, only to find that Amravati had already set the next part of the plan into motion. She was no longer in control.
Her thoughts were not her own. They were consumed by visions of the royal family, Rohan’s parents, and anyone with ties to the bloodline. One by one, they began to die, gruesomely—the family that had once condemned Amravati to death was now being erased from history.
Chapter 5: The Mental Asylum
Days later, Jia was found wandering the streets in a trance-like state, her eyes wild, her clothes torn. The authorities had no idea what had happened. She was covered in blood, but there were no answers. Rohan’s body was found, his family killed one after another, and all signs pointed to Jia.
She was arrested, thrown into a mental asylum, where she was confined to a small room, her mind unraveling more with each passing hour.
The doctors tried to understand her, but all she could say were the same words over and over.
“I didn’t do it. I didn’t do anything… Amravati made me. The queen… the curse. It wasn’t me.”
She was deemed insane. The world thought she had snapped under the weight of grief, that her obsession with Rohan had pushed her over the edge.
But what they didn’t know was the truth. The library had been sealed, banned by the authorities, its dark history erased from public memory. No one dared speak of Amravati or the curse again.
Epilogue: The Library’s Dark Legacy
The Amravati City Library remained abandoned and untouched, its doors now locked tight, its dark history buried deep beneath the rubble. People spoke of it only in whispers.
But in the dead of night, some still claimed to hear whispers coming from within, voices that promised vengeance, voices that still carried the weight of a queen’s curse.
Jia’s story, too, would fade—just another tragedy lost in the cracks of time. But somewhere, in the darkest corners of the city, the whispers of Amravati’s wrath could still be heard, beckoning those foolish enough to seek the cursed books.
Part 3 :-
Title: “The Queen’s Wrath – Part 3”
Chapter 6: The New Victim
The Amravati City Library, long abandoned and sealed away from the public, had somehow disappeared from the memory of the city’s residents. The story of the cursed queen and her vengeance faded with time, relegated to the forgotten corners of urban legend. The books that had once been housed there were moved to a new, more modern public library in the city, and among them, hidden within the stacks of dusty volumes, was the same cursed book.
Years passed.
The library itself, now a gleaming, modern building, stood at the heart of the city like a beacon of progress. The new generation of readers didn’t know the horrors that lay within its walls. The quiet hum of fluorescent lights and the soft rustle of pages turned by eager students were the only sounds that filled the building—until the book was rediscovered.
On a quiet Tuesday afternoon, a young woman named Meera, new to the city and eager to dive into books she had never read before, found herself wandering the aisles of the public library. Meera, a recent college graduate, was looking for something to escape her own tangled thoughts—something to distract her from the emptiness she felt after leaving her small hometown behind.
Her eyes wandered across the rows of books, scanning titles, but nothing seemed to catch her interest. That was when she spotted it—an old, leather-bound volume sitting slightly out of place on a high shelf. Its cover was dark, almost too worn, the title barely legible.
“Stories from Real Incidences.”
The title seemed innocuous enough, and her curiosity got the better of her. Meera pulled the book down from the shelf, her fingers brushing the edges of its brittle pages. It felt strangely heavy, like it held more than just words—like it carried something far older, more dangerous.
Without a second thought, she found a quiet corner in the library and opened the book.
Chapter 7: The Return of Amravati
Meera’s fingers trembled as she turned the first page, reading the words about the ancient kingdom of Amravati and its tragic queen. As she read, a strange unease began to settle over her. It was as if the words themselves had a life of their own, wrapping around her like an invisible force.
And then, she came across the final part of the story—the curse, the death of Queen Amravati, and the destruction of the royal family. The warning at the end of the book stood out, in stark contrast to the rest of the tale:
“Her spirit never left the kingdom. Her vengeance lives on, waiting for the next fool to awaken it.”
Meera felt a cold chill creep down her spine. Her eyes darted to the library entrance, but there was no one in sight. It was quiet—eerily so.
Suddenly, she felt the unmistakable sensation that she was being watched.
She glanced around, but there was no one nearby. Her breath quickened, and a shiver ran through her. The feeling wouldn’t leave, though. It was as if something—or someone—was standing just beyond her line of sight, waiting for the right moment to make itself known.
And then, she saw it.
From the corner of her eye, she saw a figure. A woman, dressed in an ancient gown, standing motionless by the tall, dimly lit shelves at the far end of the library. The figure was almost too still, her face pale and ghostly, a twisted, knowing smile playing on her lips.
Meera froze, her heart hammering in her chest. She couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe.
The woman’s eyes glowed with an eerie intensity. Her presence was like ice in the air, cold and suffocating. She didn’t speak, but Meera felt her voice in her mind, the same voice that had whispered in Jia’s ear, now calling out to her.
“You are mine now.”
Meera tried to scream, but no sound came out. She felt her hands go numb, her vision spinning, and the room seemed to close in on her. The figure in the corner stepped closer, her smile growing wider and more twisted, until her face was mere inches from Meera’s. The library around them began to distort, warping into something dark and oppressive, the walls closing in as if they were alive.
The book in Meera’s hands began to pulse, the pages fluttering as if caught in an unseen wind, its words shifting, changing in a language Meera couldn’t understand.
“You opened the door, Meera. Now you belong to me.“
The whisper echoed in her mind, but before she could react, the room fell into darkness. The light overhead flickered and died. Meera’s hands trembled uncontrollably as the book fell from her grip, landing with a soft thud on the floor.
And in that moment, as the shadows in the room grew thicker, the queen’s cold laugh rang through the silence.
Chapter 8: The Curse Reborn
The next morning, when the library reopened, no one found Meera. The book was gone, but the strange sense of unease remained, like an invisible presence lingering in the air.
Meera’s parents were contacted, and they told the police that she had been acting strangely in the days leading up to her disappearance. No one could explain where she had gone or why she had vanished without a trace. The only thing anyone could agree on was that she had checked out that old book.
The Amravati City Library was still sealed off, but the book had somehow ended up back in circulation, like a dark seed waiting to be planted in the hands of the next unsuspecting reader.
Chapter 9: The Endless Cycle
Some time later, a new librarian working the night shift began noticing strange occurrences at the library. Books would be out of place, lights would flicker, and sometimes, when she walked between the rows of bookshelves, she felt eyes watching her—cold, unblinking eyes.
One evening, she ventured into the old archives room in search of misplaced books. It was there that she found something that had been forgotten for years—a dust-covered box, sealed with a thick layer of cobwebs. Inside, she discovered an old leather-bound book, still worn from age, with the same title: “Stories from Real Incidences”.
With trembling hands, she opened it, and before she could even read a word, the temperature in the room dropped. A cold gust of wind blew across her face, and she felt an overwhelming sense of dread.
But it was too late.
From the shadows, a figure slowly emerged.
Standing in the corner of the room, smiling, was Amravati.
-Richa ❤
Readavorous (Dastan-e-Kitaab) 