✷ A mythical world, with sparkling blue waters and fantastical beings. Follow Jisung as he uncovers the secrets of the deep blue. ✷
[EXTENDED SUMMARY]:
"Merpeople can have vendettas?" Jisung gasps."For centuries? Can't you repent for that shit?!"
Ch...
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Jisung hasn't seen Minho in days.
He pushes open the door to Pixie's Pages with a trembling hand, his heart lodged in his throat.
He had been avoiding this place since the incident with the mer, unable to face Minho and tell him what happened...unable to face the truth himself.
But he had to try.
If anything, Minho could conjure up a solution to his problems (if that solution involves bringing dead species to life).
The library, on an early Saturday morning, is unusually empty, save for the librarian who is busy tidying up books at the front desk.
"Minho?" Jisung calls out, his voice echoing in the large room.
Dust has collected on the shelves, and the entire library looks worse for wear. It's less tidy than usual, and lacks that signature indescribable feel to it.
It feels as if a page of Pixie's Pages has been torn from its binding.
The librarian—who is not Minho—looks up briefly before returning to his task. "He's not here," he replies, cracking his knuckles, "hasn't been here for a few days now."
Jisung's heart sinks. That's... unlike his librarian friend. Minho always comes to the library, even when he's so sick he's coughing up blood and fainting on the job. He's always waiting there, nose in a new novel, waiting to share his mer-hypotheses with Jisung with a fond smile on his face.
Jisung is certain that Minho is the only person in Arcana who can help him... and he's not even here.
He hasn't been here. For multiple days.
"Do you know where he is?" Jisung asks with desperation in his voice. "Is he okay?"
The new librarian shakes his head, shrugging. "I dunno'. Just dropped off the face of Arcana. No call, no text, nothing."
What?
Jisung draws in a breath. This can't be real, right?
As Jisung takes in the desolate scene of the library with a new lens, a sense of despondency and foreboding settles in like a thick fog.
