The key to locked hearts

Prolouge

NAOMI

She took five steps back, carefully tiptoeing over the paint bucket she'd accidentally scattered across the floor. She tilted her head to the left, then panned it slowly to the right, examining each meticulous detail she'd painted on the canvas. It was an ominous composition, featuring a crow with its wings clipped by a dagger. What theme was she trying to convey? Would this piece finally get her to where she needed to be?

Every season, she applied to the Rookie Artists Comp, hoping to finally make it past the first round, but no such luck yet. It was an event where artists from around the world could be given a platform and opportunities, along with a life-changing cash prize of $10k. It was her only way to escape her dreaded future as a lawyer.

But with this latest rejection, her future was no longer just a dreaded possibility; it felt like an imminent reality. Her law degree that she had strived for aimlessly felt like a mistake, and she regretted taking it for her parents instead of pursuing what brought her joy. Now she was stuck. She had a law degree she didn't want to use and an ambition for art that might not be enough to escape her dreaded future.

With a heavy sigh, she turned from her easel. She was exhausted; she needed a break. She grabbed her jacket and keys and headed for the door. This wasn't just a physical break but also a mental one. She needed some time away from the pressure and stress of everything. As she stepped out of her apartment into the cool night air, she took a deep breath, savoring the relief that came with it. The night always reminded her of autumn, even if it was summer; leaves would bristle past her shoes, some even learning to fly for the first time. She watched them soar, wondering if they'd reach her special star, the one she wished on every night since she'd seen it; it shined especially bright tonight.

Usually, a nighttime excursion would be a death wish waiting to happen, but the world was always so much prettier in the dark-engulfed sky. There was a local library just down the block by a thrifting/bookstore and café. It was always so convenient living by everything she needed.

As she approached, the gentle hum of the city seemed to fall away, replaced by the hushed reverence that books command. The library, the place she'd sought refuge in countless times before, welcomed her with its familiar, comforting scent of old paper and whispered secrets. It was not just a place but a haven for restless spirits like hers, seeking solace in stories and silent companionship.

She pushed open the heavy door, the sound of it closing behind her slicing through the quiet like a definitive note. Every library always seemed to have a heavy door; it was like a challenge for readers to get past to advance to the next level. The interior was dimly lit, with only a few lamps casting pools of light over scattered tables. It was late, and the usual bustle of patrons had dwindled to a mere handful of night owls, each lost in their own world.

Her fingers trailed along the spines of countless books as she wandered through the aisles, each title a promise of escape. She didn't have a particular book in mind; she believed the right stories find you when you need them most. And tonight, she needed to lose herself, even if just for a while, in tales of adventure, love, and mystery that stretched beyond the confines of reality.

She found a secluded corner and settled into a chair that had molded to the shape of many before her, each seeking a momentary respite from their lives. With a book finally chosen, she opened to the first page, the words greeting her like an old friend. Yet this book was a complete stranger to her. As she got to know the book and the characters, she found her reprieve, her mental break made tangible in the weight of the book in her hands.

Outside, the world continued its restless dance, but within these walls, time seemed to slow, offering a sanctuary to those who sought its shelter. And as she lost herself in the story, the pressures and stress that had urged her out into the night began to unravel, thread by thread, until she was no longer a tangle of worries but simply a reader.

The protagonist was confronted with an ultimatum that threatened to unsettle the very balance of their world. They were torn between saving the kingdom and rescuing their mother. Engrossed, she eagerly turned each page, only to be met with an author's note at the climax.

"So they just don't decide? Is this the plot of the book?" she exclaimed, a bit louder than necessary. Her outburst was promptly met with a piercing "Shh!" from the librarian nearby.

She apologized quietly and continued on, lost in thought. The decision was difficult, and the people had treated the family terribly, despite their royal status. The protagonist's selflessness throughout the book seemed almost too much. To be that kind can feel like a curse, nearly as detrimental as cruelty itself.

She replaced the book on the shelf and left the library, pondering: What is a decision if not a gamble? The fear of the unknown is daunting—being unsure, not knowing the outcomes or the consequences it may bring. It's terrifying.

Once home, she tossed her keys and jacket aside and collapsed onto her bed, the night light casting shadows across her art. Can she truly pursue this?