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...
When will it end? Hopelessness is spreading. When will it end? I am much too tired to write down anything else for the time being, not when all of this feels like a ruse. We're growing impatient. Things are...changing. For the worse. And I don't understand why.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
ARTHUR WILLIAM WHITMORE DID NOT KNOW WHAT HE WAS DOING, KNOCKING ON THAT STRANGE WOMAN'S DOOR.
Seraphina Thorne. That is what she said her name was. Honestly, he found it rather intriguing. He wanted to ask her what it meant, but he was afraid of getting smacked by a book in the face again. After that first meeting in the Library, he decided she was a rather...fanatical woman. Miss Thorne was obviously quite invested in the books which she took care of, though he thought it a waste of time. From their brief conversations, he found her to be someone with rather diverse and somewhat unique opinions. Arthur didn't know whether that was a good thing, or rather, a flaw.
She seemed interesting. Maybe someone worth having a conversation with. Nevermind that she was a Librarian, of all things. Such a dull profession, was it not? Just sit around all day, signing permission slips and noting down new arrivals, or arranging the books in a new order. Where was the fun it it? Arthur Whitmore often felt proud of his practicality, and his perception of reality itself. In fact, it was one of the things which led him into pursuing a career in teaching, or in History, specifically. Children, the young minds of the future, needed to have base values and morals instilled in them. Ethics, and a working view of the way this world worked.
History was a embodiment of that. Arthur was somewhat entranced by the idea of these human beings, living hundreds of years before them, without simple amenities like brick houses and functioning schools, or higher education. How did they survive? How did the world evolve from the might is right mindset prevailing in the caveman to a sophisticated society debating about the meaning of truth? When was that transition made? What led to it? These were the questions he sought an answer to, and so far, Arthur felt as if he was making fair progress on the matter.
As he tapped his fingers against his leg, stomping his foot on the ground lightly, he felt the sudden urge to flee. What was he even doing here? The both of them barely knew each other, and somehow, Arthur had convinced himself that showing up on a near stranger's doorstep was alright.
Fool.
But then, before he could turn around, or so much as utter a word, the gate opened, and he saw Miss Thorne after what was almost about to be a month. He had, regrettably, considered visiting that establishment where she worked many times since their last encounter. Alas, though, he would always deter from the mission, making up empty excuses and half-meant apologies. And when he finally worked up the courage, she wasn't there. The next day, either. It began to worry him. Of course, Arthur realized that it was not really his place to do that. She would obviously have someone to look after her. Maybe a husband, and kids. Or her parents. Relatives. Someone. It was certainly not his responsibility to check up on her. And yet, here he was.
