Ryan swallowed hard, staring at the glistening, salivating blade wielded by a masked, skeletal man.
The figure waved the steel through the air, snickering at poor Ryan, who silently murmured a prayer to gods he didn't believe in.
The rhythmic whoosh of the blade slicing the air added a bitter spice to his impending doom. On a balcony high above, a massive silhouette oversaw the chopping board. The bearded man held a megaphone to his lips, his voice booming over the courtyard.
"Ryan L. Stuart! Today, the 31st of January... you are sentenced to death for staring at the King's horse and sleeping on the job!" Ryan flinched.
He squinted at the platform, trying to see the man who had ordered his end. How odd, he thought, he looks exactly like my math teacher.
Before he could reconcile the image of a Roman judge with his geometry instructor, a heavy hand gripped his neck. He was dragged like a hooked fish toward the block. Ryan begged for mercy; he kicked and screamed, cursing the gods for abandoning him.
"Have mercy! Have mercy!" The blade ascended, catching the cold light of a sun he would never see again. Ryan's final words were lost in a piercing scream.
"Ryan! Ryan!" Ryan woke with a violent start, his hands frantically clawing at his own neck. His chest heaving, whispering ,barely able to hold his breath .
"Have mercy" through cracked lips. Sweat rolled down his brow, and his hands shook so violently that his teacher wondered if the inevitable had finally happened.
"He's finally gone insane," Pontius breathed, patting the boy's shoulder.
"Ryan, are you okay?" Ryan lifted his eyes slowly. He was met by the inquisitive gaze of his teacher and a background of muffled giggles and whispers.
The realization hit him like a physical blow: he had just humiliated himself in front of the entire class. He silently prayed for the floor to open up and swallow him whole.
"I'm fine," Ryan croaked. "I just... I felt a bit under the weather."
"Well, the next time you feel 'under the weather,' stay home," Pontius said softly.
"It would be better if you excused yourself. The library would be a more appropriate place for a nap, wouldn't it?"
"Do I have a choice?" Ryan asked, unable to meet the man's eyes.
"No, Ryan. You don't."
Sluggishly, Ryan made his way to the library to serve his second loathed isolation in a row.
Why do you have to be like this? he muttered to himself, leaning his forehead against the cool, stone wall of the corridor.
"Yes, I am Ryan..." he sighed to the empty air.
"Well, nice to meet you, Ryan. Would you like to join me? You seem to have quite a bit of time to spare." Miss Keren, the librarian, smiled as she gestured toward the detention slip peeking out of his pocket.
"It turns out I don't have much of a choice, Miss Keren," Ryan managed a weak chuckle.
"Are you alright, Ryan?" she asked, her forehead wrinkling with genuine concern.
"This is the second time this week. I don't mind the company, but is everything okay?"
"Everything's fine, Miss K," Ryan lied, coughing , the hoarseness in his voice betraying him.
"If you say so. Find a book and get comfortable."
" Thanks miss k " Ryan said as he turned towards the towering shelves.
The shelves were carved from African Mahogany, a wood that usually glows with a trapped, inner fire when varnished. But here, under the weight of decades, that time had been smothered. A thick, grey pelt of dust turned the deep red grain into a dull, muddy brown. Silver-thick cobwebs stretched between the carvings like the rigging of an abandoned ship, and where the light hit the wood, it didn't shimmer—it just highlighted the oily, stagnant grime that had embraced the finish.
Across Ryan, sitting below mesh covered window, a table , lit by a small worn out lamp. The table was made of polished Mahogany, its grain so deep and varnished so perfectly that the lamp light didn't just sit on the surface; it seemed trapped inside the wood like a drowning sun.
Ryan wandered through the labyrinth of dusty shelves. "Who even reads these?" he muttered, dragging a finger through the grime.
"This place is a tomb. It needs a cleaning, or a fire...put it out of its misery" he chuckled softly to himself .
"Are you going to talk to yourself all day, or are you going to actually pick something?" a soft, melodic voice drifted from the corner. Ryan froze.
"I will, in a minute," he replied, thinking his subconscious was still playing tricks on him. Then his blood ran cold. Wait.
"Whoa—what the—?"
"Don't shit your pants," a disarming giggle echoed from the shadows. A girl stepped out. She had dark hair with strange, ethereal sliver strands of grey hanging at her temples. Her lips were full, and her brown eyes sparkled with a penetrating intensity.
"Hi," Ryan stammered. "I mean... how are you? I didn't mean to disturb you."
"Don't worry about it. I didn't mean to scare you shitless, either." She extended a hand. Ryan took it, noting how impossibly soft her skin was—like a baby's. She has the hands of someone who's never worked a day in her life, he thought.
"Actually, she has worked, and her name is Alison, by the way. Thanks for asking," she said, her eyes dancing.
Ryan's jaw dropped. "How... how did you..."
"A lucky guess," she said, turning back to her corner, a smirk across her lips.
"Right. Okay. Well, I'm Ryan."
"What are you reading?" he asked, desperate to keep her talking.
"This old thing? It's called Purity's Ecstasy," she said, tilting her head.
"Have you read it?"
Ryan shook his head. "I'm not much of a book person," he admitted his gaze suddenly shifting from her eyes to his feet.
"What's it about?" He reached out and took the book from her.
It felt heavy—ancient. He pressed the pages to his face and inhaled. It had a heavy, rusty, rich smell—the scent of decaying paper and ancient ink. It was an intoxicating rot that pulled at his senses, demanding he sniff it again, deeper this time.
"It's not food, u are supposed to read it."
"I thought you weren't interested in books?"
"I seem to have plenty of time," Ryan said, mustering up his confidence.
"And I'd rather spend it listening to you talk."
"Weirdo," she smiled. "But I could use the company. Sit down. And don't interrupt."
Alison began to narrate. Her voice rose and fell, a rusty smell clouded the air weaving a spell around him. Pulling him into a cage ,Ryan barely heard the plot; he was mesmerized by the way the light caught her eyes, like stars trapped in a dark room. Her lips glistened, inviting and they were eldritch—a strange, heavy craft that should have repelled him with its lush of rose gold , splashed, between the dark seams of her lips. There was a magnetic quality to the way they moved—a sliver of garnet shadow appearing and disappearing between them. It was the strange, unearthly contrast against her skin, pulling his gaze in until the rest of the room felt blurred into grey. it was hypnotic, pulling at his curiosity like a magnet.
"And that's the end, I suppose," Alison sighed, looking suddenly exhausted.
"It was... amazing," Ryan breathed. "I think I should come to the library more often."
Alison's face suddenly went grim. She stood up abruptly, smoothing the folds of her skirt and grabbing a dark cotton bag.
"It was nice finally meeting you, Ryan," she said. Her smile was profoundly sad. She turned and walked away.
"Hey!" Ryan called out, scrambling to his feet. "Wait! Can I walk you out? , Will I see you again?" Alison nodded vaguely and murmured something inaudible.
Ryan took it as a 'yes.'
"Let me just check out first! Wait right here!" Ryan sprinted to the librarian's desk.
"Ma'am, my time is up. Can I go?"
Miss Keren didn't even look up from her ledger.
"It's fine, Ryan. You're free." Ryan bolted back to the corner. The chair was empty. The book, Purity's Ecstasy, was gone. He ran to the hallway, looking left and right, but the corridor was a vacuum of silence.
He doubled back to the desk, panting.
"Miss Keren! The girl—Alison—did you see which way she went? Did she check out a book?"
Miss Keren finally looked up, her expression flat and confused. "Boy, what are you talking about? You've been the only person in this library for the last two hours"