The air in the library was frigid, a deep, unnatural cold that seemed to seep from the very shelves of ancient books. The familiar, comforting hum of the fluorescent lights was gone, replaced by a stark, sterile silence that made every one of Selene's footsteps sound like a gunshot in the vast, empty space. She wasn't here to study tonight. The mysterious text Meet me at the library. I have something to tell you about Lyra. had pulled her here with a gravity that felt inescapable, a hook in her soul.
Her heart was a frantic drum against her ribs, a chaotic rhythm of fear and a desperate, clawing hope. Every shadow seemed to twist and writhe, every flicker of the few active lights felt like a malevolent wink.
As she approached the secluded archives section, a place she usually found peaceful, a figure detached itself from the deeper shadows near a large oak table. The person was shrouded in a dark, heavy hoodie, their face a mystery, their posture hunched and intense over something she couldn't see. Selene's breath hitched, solid in her throat.
"Hello?" she called out, her voice a thin, reedy thing that was immediately swallowed by the oppressive quiet.
The figure turned slowly, with an almost unnatural grace. The hood fell back just enough to reveal a woman with sharp, severe features and eyes so dark and penetrating they seemed to absorb the light around them. A faint, knowing smile touched her lips, devoid of any warmth.
"You are Selene," the woman stated, her voice a low, melodic hum that vibrated in the stillness. It was not a question.
"Who are you?" Selene demanded, forcing a strength into her voice she did not feel. "How do you know Lyra? What is this about?"
The woman's smile remained, a cold, fixed thing. "I know many things. What matters is that you came. That tells me you are already entangled in a web you do not yet see."
A cold dread, thick and oily, began to coil in Selene's stomach. This was no curious academic. This felt ancient. Dangerous.
"What do you want from me?" Selene asked, taking a involuntary step back.
The woman mirrored her step, closing the distance with a fluid, gliding movement that felt utterly alien. "I am here to offer you a truth. The truth Lyra is too cowardly to give you. She is not what she seems. She is not like you. She is a relic of a forgotten age, bound by a curse."
Selene's mind flashed to the artifact, its impossible warmth, the way it seemed to hold light within itself. She thought of the dreams, the visceral, terrifyingly real dreams that felt more like memories. "I know she is different," Selene whispered, her defiance crumbling.
"You know nothing," the woman countered, her voice dropping into a chilling, intimate whisper. "You have seen parlor tricks. A glowing stone. But do you know what she is? Truly? She is eternal. A prisoner of time. A being who has watched millennia pass like seasons, who has loved and lost more times than your fragile heart could comprehend."
The words were a physical assault. Selene felt the air leave her lungs in a rush.
"That object is not a Heirloom. It is a Key. One of several that bind her to this existence and help her maintain something deep within herself, to a duty that spans continents and centuries. Lyra is its keeper, just as her ancestors were before her. She has walked this earth while history unfolded around her, a ghost among the living, forever separated by the unbridgeable chasm of her longevity. That is the weight she carries. That is the cursed reality she is foolish enough to want to share with you."
Selene shook her head, a weak denial forming on her lips. But the woman pressed on, her voice relentless, each word a hammer blow to Selene's reality.
"You feel a pull? A connection you cannot explain?" the woman sneered softly. "That is not love. That is the echo of an ancient bond, a debt owed across lifetimes. She is drawn to you not for who you are, but for what you represent. A momentary respite from her endless solitude. A flicker of warmth in her eternal winter, even if it means dragging you into the cold with her."
Tears welled in Selene's eyes, hot and blinding. The doubts she had been fighting for weeks surged forward, fed by this stranger's venomous certainty. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Ask yourself why she pulls away," the woman hissed, her gaze pitiless. "It is not to protect you. It is because she knows the truth. She knows that to let you in is to condemn you. This immortality is not a gift. It is a lonely, endless torment. And there are others... hunters who have pursued our kind for ages, who would not hesitate to destroy you both if they discovered her one weakness. You."
A memory, sharp and painful, lanced through Selene's panic. The dreams. The intense, recurring dreams that felt less like fiction and more like a message.
She found a sliver of her voice, a thread of defiance. "Is this... is this related to my dreams?" she asked, her voice trembling. "The dreams I have been having about Lyra? They are so vivid... like memories that are not my own. I see her in different times, different places... I feel her fear, her... her love. Are those real? Are they part of this... curse?"
The woman's expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable surprise, perhaps, or grim satisfaction—crossing her features. "The dreams?" she repeated, her tone shifting, becoming almost clinical. "So, it has already begun. The bond is forming, faster than I anticipated. Those are not dreams, child. They are echoes. Fragments of her long life resonating with your spirit because she has imprinted on you. You are not remembering. You are witnessing. You are feeling the ghost of her past loves, her past losses. It is a side effect of her kind becoming attached to a mortal. It is a poison that seeps into your mind, making it harder for you to distinguish her reality from your own. It is the first step of losing yourself to her history."
The explanation was more terrifying than any vague threat. The most intimate, confusing part of her connection to Lyra was being framed as a symptom of a magical disease, a violation of her very mind.
The woman leaned in, her cold breath ghosting over Selene's ear, her final words a venomous whisper. "So you see, I am giving you a choice. You can continue down this path, chasing a ghost, and risk losing not just your heart, but your mind and your very soul to her cursed eternity. Or you can walk away now. Live your one, precious mortal life. Find a love that is real and present, not one haunted by the ghosts of a thousand past lives."
She pulled back, her dark eyes holding Selene's for one last, paralyzing moment. "The danger is more real than you can imagine. The choice, however, is still yours."
Before Selene could scream, could cry, could form a single coherent thought in the maelstrom of terror, the woman turned. She melted back into the shadows between the bookshelves, disappearing as silently as a nightmare fading at dawn.
Selene was left utterly alone. The weight of the woman's words crashed down upon her, a suffocating wave of horror and despair. She stumbled back, her legs buckling, and caught herself on the edge of the cold oak table. Her hands were trembling violently. The dreams, the artifact, Lyra's fear, it all coalesced into a terrifying, plausible whole. She was standing at the precipice of an abyss, and the truth she had so desperately wanted to know now felt like a sentence of damnation.