Untold Story

Chapter Five : A History Rewritten

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Trigger Warning:
This chapter contains references to death, suicide, and emotional trauma. Reader discretion is advised.
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Evelyn's POV

The library breathed with the scent of old pages and polished wood, lit by chandeliers that flickered like whispers from another time. Towering shelves loomed above Ethan and me, the books stacked like secrets waiting to be told. The air was thick with silence, broken only by the faint scratch of a fountain pen behind the front desk.

Just like James warned, the librarian was... peculiar. She sat still behind the counter, her only movement the drumming of her long fingers on a thick book. Her eyes—sharp, knowing, almost unnervingly alert—lifted slowly to meet mine as we approached. Gray hair pinned tight, lips pressed in a line, she looked like a portrait come to life.

"I’m looking for a book about Princess Arya and Prince Edward," I said.

Her fingers froze. No words. No expression. Just a silent rising as her skirts whispered against the wooden floor. She disappeared between shelves like a shadow.

“Creepy, but kind of cool,” Ethan muttered beside me.

When she returned, she placed a worn leather-bound book on the counter. No title. Just old leather and quiet warning.

"This is all we have," she said, her voice low. "It’s old. Be careful what you awaken."

We didn’t ask what she meant.

Ethan and I settled into two dusty armchairs by the window. As I opened the book, a soft crackle met my ears, like it hadn’t been touched in decades. The first pages were filled with careful notes and delicate drawings. Then—a portrait.

“There he is…” I whispered.

Prince Edward Ravenshield. His features are noble and calm. His hair, the exact deep-blue of a moonlit sky. Silver-gray eyes that stared from the page like they remembered too much.

“Wow,” Ethan murmured. “He looks like someone you’d trust to lead an army and write poetry between battles.”

We read on.

“He was next in line,” Ethan said. “After his older brother was declared illegitimate. Edward was kind of a genius—languages, philosophy, swordsmanship, the whole royal package.”

“And generous,” I added. “He sponsored orphan schools, wrote letters to end wars.”

Then, we turned a page—and everything shifted.

A second portrait, damaged and faded. Scratches tore across the face. Only a name remained: Princess Arya Valoria.

My breath caught. Ethan looked at me, eyebrows raised.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?”

I nodded slowly. “This just got a lot more real.”

But something about the image tugged at me. Beneath the destruction, one detail had survived.

“Wait…” I leaned in, my brows knitting together. “Her hair… it’s green.”

Emerald strands spilled across her shoulders, muted but unmistakable. A rich forest green, like sunlit moss. I stared at it, confused.

“Her hair is green,” I repeated, louder.

Ethan leaned closer. “Okay… why does that matter?”