دانلود رمان انگلیسی “کریستال حلزون”

SUNDAY, 10:17PM. The only illumination in my apartment is the ice-blue light of my laptop screen and the candle on my windowsill. The candle is labeled “Calm,” a lavender and chamomile blend, but the scent is not calming me down in the slightest. To be frank, I don’t think it’s having any effect, mostly giving off burning wax, and doing nothing to stem my desperation rising from loneliness and heartbreak. I’m cross-legged in my desk chair, knees practically touching my chin, left foot numb against the cheap, uneven hardwood. I have work tomorrow, an event-planning gig for a downtown law firm, some supposedly meaningful team-building exercise that involves hurling axes. Which honestly just sounds like a bunch of dudes that need therapy congregating in one place, but tonight my full attention is on a website called witch-webshop.com. The header blinks neon magenta and acid green. Below it sit two sad anime girls. One in pink with pigtails and one in green with a gas mask. They are both hugging a banner that says: Magical Solutions for the Modern Broken-Hearted. The whole thing is so on the nose that I want to close the tab out of embarrassment, but my last three hours have been spent mainlining Netflix with a slow drip of boxed wine, and my better judgment is now on holiday. I flick the touchpad, scrolling past endless rows of crystals, powders, and strange ceramic toads in various lewd poses. I know I’m not going to buy anything. Retail therapy is just cheaper when you do it with pixelated trinkets online instead of real ones in the store. Still, I feel the same little tick of hope that I used to get searching for discount codes or waiting for a Tinder match. I think maybe this time, the universe will give me a sign and send me what I’ve been looking for. Maybe this time I’ll feel something besides restless disappointment. A notification pings on my cell. I ignore it. If it’s from Mom, I’ll have to pretend everything is fine, and if it’s from my ex, I’ll have to resist replying with anything that involves the phrase gutter troll. Instead, I click into the Hexes and Jinxes tab. A pop-up jumps at me: DO NOT USE FOR EVIL. The close button is a heart with fangs. I continue to scroll, and then scroll some more. There’s a spell kit to Banish Unwanted Visitors, which contains a mirror, four pins, and ethically sourced hair clippings. A kit to Freeze Their Intentions, which requires moonlight and a working freezer, and a charm labeled Crush Control featuring a Barbie-sized whip. I can’t help it. I snort out a full-bodied giggle that echoes off the water-stained ceiling of my apartment. Then I see it, buried at the bottom of the page. The Vermis Transformo Crystal. The product photo is a thumb-sized pale green cylindrical object, it looks like a shell carved from opal. The description reads: “Tired of being haunted by your ex? Turn them into a harmless garden slug! The ancient tradition is back, now with improved results. Simply recite the incantation while holding the crystal and visualize the subject. (Note: works only on those you’ve kissed at least once.) WARNING: Not intended for use on pets or immediate family.” I click the image, half-expecting a Rickroll, but it just zooms in on the crystal. There’s a single review: five stars, “Best $150 I ever spent. My ex-girlfriend has not posted a single thirst trap since.” I mutter, “This can’t be real.” But my fingers are moving across my screen, tracing the curves of the glassy crystal, a pale green cylindrical object. I picture my ex-boyfriend’s face, round, smug, and always a little sweaty, on a slug. It’s hilarious, but not in a healthy way. A laugh bursts from my chest, but it’s the kind of laugh you get after a night of crying. This whole page feels like salt on an open wound.