The Veil of Glass

Silence of the Stacks

The library had always been Liora's haven—a place where she could lose herself in books and thoughts, free from the world's distractions. But today, there was no solace, no peace. She entered the dimly lit room, her movements quiet and deliberate, but her mind racing with thoughts she couldn't control.

As she made her way to the far corner, where the older books rested untouched, Liora froze. Standing in front of the tall windows, bathed in the soft afternoon light, was Azazel. He was alone, as he often was, his fingers brushing across the pages of a book.

Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, but it wasn't fear—it was something else, something darker. She had no intention of approaching him, yet her body betrayed her as she slowly made her way closer, her eyes never leaving him. He didn't see her at first, and she liked it that way. It gave her time to observe him in his element.

The way his long fingers moved over the page, slow and deliberate, sent a shiver down her spine. His touch was delicate, yet controlled. There was power in those fingers, the way they commanded even something as simple as a book. And all Liora could think about was what it would feel like to have those fingers trace over her skin with the same quiet intensity.

Her mind raced with unwanted thoughts—thoughts she couldn't shake no matter how much she tried to suppress them. She imagined those fingers sliding over her body, the sensations they would ignite, how they would make her tremble. But it wasn't just the thought of him touching her that consumed her. It was the idea of controlling him. Of making those careful, calculating fingers do her bidding, bend to her will.

The sudden rush of heat that flushed through her was overwhelming. She bit her lip, fighting back the wave of desire that surged up from deep inside her. What would it feel like to have power over someone like him? To dominate the very thing that seemed so untouchable, so restrained? The thought of breaking through his calm exterior, unraveling that control, sent a sick thrill through her.

Then, as if sensing her gaze, Azazel paused. His fingers stilled on the page, and slowly, deliberately, he lifted his head. Their eyes met for the briefest moment—cold, indifferent, as if he was simply acknowledging her presence as just another student in the room.

And then... nothing.

His dark, unreadable gaze moved on as if she were no different than the books that lined the shelves. Liora's breath hitched, her heart pounding in her chest, but Azazel showed no further interest. He turned his attention back to the book, as though she was invisible, unimportant, just another part of the background. The way he dismissed her, so easily, so casually, sent a surge of frustration—and excitement—through her.

He hadn't seen her. Not really. And that drove her mad.

As Azazel stepped away from the bookshelf, something in his posture shifted. He flexed his fingers—just once—as if to stretch them after handling the book, but the movement, small as it was, sent a shock of heat through Liora. It was as if he'd grazed his fingertips over her skin, and suddenly, she clenched her thighs instinctively, her breath hitching in her throat. The sensation was maddening, almost unbearable, and yet, she could swear he hadn't done anything at all.

Or had he?

She couldn't shake the feeling. That small motion, the way his fingers flexed, controlled yet fluid—it had felt personal. Too personal. Her mind reeled, and a dark thrill spiraled through her. It was as though he had touched her without ever laying a hand on her, and the thought alone made her stomach twist with a wicked pleasure.

But Azazel didn't look back. He simply walked away, his fingers slipping into his pockets casually, as though the whole moment had never happened. And yet, Liora couldn't shake the sensation. Her body was still buzzing, her skin prickling with heat, and she found herself yearning for that feeling again—for him to make her feel that way again.

In the entire cafeteria, he had looked at no one else. Only her.

And that indifference, that complete lack of care, made her want him even more.

It was in that dismissal, that cold disregard, that her obsession deepened. She had always been able to read people, to observe and understand them from a distance. But not Azazel. He was different. He was out of reach, and that made her want him even more.

As Azazel disappeared behind the shelves, Liora's gaze remained glued to the place where he had stood. Her legs trembled slightly as she forced herself to sit down, clutching the book in her hands like a lifeline. Her body ached with the memory of that fleeting sensation, and the frustration of not knowing if it had been real or imagined gnawed at her.

She wanted more.

No. She needed more.

She couldn't read him, couldn't predict his next move or understand his thoughts. And that made him all the more irresistible. Liora craved control, craved the power to break through that impenetrable calm. To make him see her, to make him feel something—anything. But for now, all she had was the haunting memory of his fingers, and the insatiable need for more.