In a quiet coastal town, a mysterious journal is found, tucked between the pages of a random book. It belongs to an explorer who vanished a century ago while searching for a mythical island believed to grant immortality. The journal, filled with cry...
The sea is endless. Food is still there, enough for a month, and so is water. But it is running out. I am not afraid, not yet. There is still time. After all, it will help me. The journal. Captain Moore seems to have some valuable insights. I have not yet read all of it, but I intend to. And I will. I have not shared my finding with the crew. But I intend to do that as well. Now let us hope there is enough time. Enough time to turn my intentions to reality.
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THE JOURNAL, IT IRKED HER. DISTURBED HER. INTRIGUED HER.
She did not know what to think of it. For around a whole week, she waited, vigilant, expecting someone to return and free her of this burden. Ever since she put that thing in her desk's drawers, it had embedded itself into her mind, feeding off her curiosity. She could not help but think about what it implied, who it could belong to, why it was there. Sometimes she would just prop it open and stare at it, at that horizontal eight, try to figure it out. She never did, and everyday the pain just got worse.
Arthur Whitmore never did come back after that day. For that whole week, while that journal and its contents slowly seeped into her brain, coiling around her thoughts like a snake hungry to attack its prey, she half hoped for another session of almost-friendly banter with Mr. Whitmore. But to her delight, and dismay, she never saw him, even by accident. That made her feel worse than usual, though she could not figure out why. Seraphina supposed it was because for once, someone had been paying her attention, and she liked it, even if it was sometimes downright insulting.
Mr. Whitmore's earlier remarks were like an itchy dress, she could not seem to shrug them off. They made her think. What was the use of doing this? Her pay as Librarian was better than nothing, but Seraphina was sure she could do much more. And yet, the thoughts of deserting the Library and leaving it a skeleton, a mere replica of its previous glory, they prevented her from leaving. Unlike how others gave up on her, she could not give up on the things which helped her shape herself and survive in a world where no one seems to care for one another.
Anyhow, it was now evening, with the sun setting behind all the buildings shielding it from view as it dipped into the sea, burning itself out and watching peacefully as the moon rose from behind, taking its rightful place in the sky. The stars had begun twinkling faintly, just as glorious as they have always been, and always will be. They shimmered, like a mirage, a beautiful one. Fog had descended upon the streets, after the snowfall had decreased. It nestled in all the nooks and crannies it could find, blurring the lines between good and evil as it blurred the scenery all around. The lamps set on the streets looked like a halo of light converging to one singular spot, providing solace to the ones longing to find it. The sound of hooves crashing against the hard cobblestone steps seemed to echo all around as footsteps landed on the scarred roads. They seemed to beat to a rhythm, creating a cacophony of whispers which she had gotten long accustomed to.
