𝕾𝖎𝖗𝖊𝖓 𝖔𝖋 𝖆 𝕲𝖔𝖉

chapter one

Halls of Retold tales echo screams of the past victims

The young scholar walked quickly through the mazed hallways he had a destination and he was damned if he wasn't going to be on time. His life played out like clockwork. He arrived at the museum at 6:00am sharp. He then made his way to the library that was in the museum's north wing, always arriving there at 6:07am sharp. He would then briskly walk to the biblical section, arriving swiftly at 6:12am. Just in time to clean and prepare the section to be explored and browsed by the public at 6:30am every Monday to Saturday, every week, every month, every year.

He has held this position for four years now.
Having obtained it as soon as he was out of college at the ripe age of 20. While this made him probably the youngest to ever walk with the museums staff, he paid it no mind. His love for history and all it held seemed a higher importance to him than some stupid old men who honestly knew nothing about history as he'd come to unfortunately find out.

The clock chimed 6:30 as he was pulled from his morning desk perfecting. He patrolled the rows of books, busying himself with the task of making sure every book was where it was made to be. Truth be told, nobody walked into the library, not anymore. Nobody saw the purpose for the dusty old books when they could just look it up anywhere more convenient.

This Same schedule repeated. On, and on.
He would arrive, clean, busy, patrol, close and leave. Not a single person ever came into the library, and most of the staff began to nearly forget he existed. This never diminished his love for the Historical arts, though he got quite bored. Not that he'd ever admit that to anyone but himself, and the library cat Cleo of course.