The Library of Lost Things

Chapter 5

He stumbled over a loose floorboard and cursed under his breath. "This place is going to be the death of me," he muttered, righting himself.

Regaining his balance, he turned to a large door he hadn't noticed, carved with an intricate design - a door tucked away in one corner and almost obscured by a towering stack of dusty canvases.

Curious, Elias stepped closer, his heels clicking on the cavernous space. "Whoa," Elias breathed, his fingers tracing the swirling patterns on the door. 

In his hand, the brass handle lay cold, its metal nipping at his skin. The door creaked noisily - it could have been heard throughout the entire house, so it seemed - as it swung inward to disclose a sight that arrested Elias's breath in his throat.

The room beyond the door wasn't quite as Elias had expected. It wasn't some other rare, dust-laden attic room stuffed with cast-off belongings.

He peered into the dimly-lit space, dust motes dancing in the faint stream of moonlight filtering through a crack in the wall. "Looks like... a library?"

Elias stepped inside, cautious, the crimson carpet seeming to rip all sound from his feet. He ran his hand along the spines of the books; the titles seemed somehow familiar, and yet, utterly foreign. 

"Grandpa, you sly old dog," he chuckled, running a hand along a shelf overflowing with ancient-looking books. "A secret library? What were you hiding in here?"

He looked closely through a leather-bound volume, its spine brittle with age. "Looks like something out of a fantasy novel, haha! ridiculous" he muttered squinting at the faded script.

The air hummed with quiet energy, impressions of ancient knowledge, secrets. A single shaft of light pierced through the high arched window, illuminating motes of dust that danced in the air. 

The smell of old paper and leather invaded his nostrils - a smell that comforted him, speaking of hours upon hours lost within stories.

"Were you reading something?"

On the very other side of the room, a figure stirred. A girl, no older than himself, sat at a big oak table, her head lowered in a book. Her hair cascaded down, shining like silver that seemed to defy gravity, rivulets of gold streaming gently through the window.

She looked up as Elias approached, her eyes a startling violet with an intensity that made him catch his breath.

"Who are you?" Elias whispered, catching the hushed tone of the library.

The girl cocked her head to one side, anticipation rather than alarm in her expression. "I could ask you the same question," she returned, her voice like the chime of far-off bells. "This is my library."

Elias's brow furrowed. "Your library? But this is my grandfather's house."

The girl smiled - a slow curve of her lips. "Perhaps," she said, her tone holding a hint of amusement. "But this library belongs to those who find it."

She snapped the book shut, and the cover came into view, strange symbols etched into it, none of which Elias could read. 

"I am Seraphina," she said, extending a long, slender hand toward him. Her skin was cool and smooth, like polished marble.

Elias hesitated, a sense of unease washing over him. This girl, this Seraphina - she was like nothing he had ever seen before. There was an almost ethereal quality to her, a sense of mystery that both intrigued and unnerved him.

He took her hand. His fingers, rough and calloused, met with hers, smooth and cool. A jolt of energy passed between them, a spark that ignited a strange warmth within him.