Lisbeth tried to find her way around the library without much luck. She would describe it as gargantuan, given the chance, but somehow she knew that word wasn't enough. The ceiling seemed to stretch on to infinity. Rows and rows of books, from thousands of years old to newly bought, covered bookshelves. The smells—oh the smells—of nostalgia and romance wafted around her. The dim lighting only enhanced the mood. Lisbeth loved libraries: it was like a home away from home. This one even had ladders with wheels.
As she wandered, she found a book that caught her eye. It seemed to be at least a hundred years old, like it could collapse onto itself if she touched it.
Exciting.
As she reached for it, a shadow darkened the scene around her. Her breathing hitched and she spun around and found Zachariah standing behind her. He saw her fearful expression and laughed heartily—or rudely, she couldn't exactly tell anymore. Trying to ignore her pounding heart, she plastered on a look of annoyance and spun back around to grab the mysterious book. She noticed there was a thin chain binding it closed.
"I wouldn't touch that one if I were you," Zach warned from behind her.
Although she knew he wouldn't see her do it, Lisbeth rolled her eyes as dramatically as she thought possible. There was a certain feel-good emotion she gained from it. She couldn't remember the word. She touched the spine of the book. There were symbols on it that she couldn't understand. She wished she did.
"Liz," Zach said again.
"I don't care, Zach. What could a book do to me other than teach me?" She ripped the book off the shelf and marched to a nearby cluster of chairs and ottomans. "And stop calling me Liz," She said, sitting on a chair. Zach trailed behind her.
"Okay, just don't blame me when you fall in love with me. Someone a couple hundred years back was stupid enough to jinx the book: whoever opened it would fall madly in love with the first person they saw." He said. He winked at her. "Unless, of course, you already are madly in love with me. Then it won't work. But I don't blame you, many women have fallen victim to my charms."
"What?"
Did he know?
He shrugged. "You're holding a love spell book. Full of charms, potions, and recipes to make someone fall in love with you, or with whomever you want." Holding in a sigh of relief, Lisbeth looked at the old book with renewed interest.
"Really? That's...cool," she couldn't think of anything else to say.
Zach continued, "I have never had to use it, of course. But many people have used it on me. I'll have to give it to you women: the lot of you are awfully persistent." Lisbeth decided not to comment. "There are some spells in there that require a DNA sample. Like a piece of hair, skin, urine—"
She laughed. "Urine? Really? What kind of girl would be that desperate?" She could imagine someone sneaking up and—
"You'd be surprised. I've lost count of the number of bruises and scars I've had to give out in fighting for my dignity." (Lisbeth wondered if he really had any dignity.) "At least people remember what their scars mean, what they tell you." Zach traced his middle finger on the arm of the chair she was sitting on, collecting dust along the way.
What do your scars tell you, Zach?" Lisbeth stared him down (or well up to him, she was sitting down-haha) with a shielded expression. She silently thanked the dim lighting. Her complexion was so pale that the slightest hint of blush could show. She was suddenly acutely aware of how alone they were. Everyone was downstairs constructing battle strategies.
He gave her a look of amusement. "My scars? I have a lot of scars." He said this almost proudly. He then proceeded to lift his left leg and set it onto an ottoman without much grace. Pointing at his inner thigh, which was clad in black, he said, "This one time I won a game of poker against a she-demon and it tried to bite my—"
"Zach," Lisbeth interrupted his story. She wasn't in the mood for games. She repeated her question. "What do they tell you?" She sincerely wanted to know.
"They tell me not to trust people." Then he amended, "Well, not the pretty ones," he then ran his forefinger along her jaw line. She didn't have a response for that, her mouth opened then closed like a fish out of water. Zach noticed her tense and removed his hand quickly. Awkward threatened to spread like a disease.
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what did you guys think? This is an idea I've been toying around with. I'm sorry if it's somewhat even the slightest similar to one of Cassandra Clare's novels—I just get a lot of inspiration from her:)
Dont forget to comment!
Feel free to message me, guys
Until then,
-rae
