Eleanor had no idea what had just happened.
Everything unfolded too quickly. She hadn't even had the chance to glimpse the contents of the familiar red-covered book in her hands. She had simply pulled it from the wooden bookshelf in one swift, decisive motion—
And then, chaos erupted around her.
The wooden house trembled violently, its walls groaning in protest. Books and trinkets toppled from their places, and the glass cabinet beside her swayed ominously. Yet, Eleanor remained oblivious to it all. She didn't notice the wooden bookshelves teetering, threatening to collapse upon her, nor the way the very air around her seemed to hum with an unseen force.
It was as if she had been transported to another dimension entirely, one where only she and the book existed. Her trembling hands clutched it tightly, her fingers ghosting over its delicate cover. She wanted—no, needed—to open it.
No, more than that. There was something she needed to confirm above all else.
