Our town is small, and so is the library. Instead of watching Kamilah I spend the day on library. It felt weird, being alone, so long time. But the time was come, where my sister couldn't use her perfection. It shouldn't go wasted. The library was old as the school, and in the same style, but it had a beautiful garden, with a stone path leading to the big oak doors, forming the entrance. I placed on feet carefully in front of the other, so each was perfectly placed on the flat stones. I walked the three small stone steps and opened the dark door.
It was a round, big room, only dimly lit. There where bookshelves up against the walls, and rows of bookshelves in the middle, so from the point where I looked, you could only see bookshelves, and endless darkness, like a labyrinth.
On my left side, there was a little bare wall, where a dark wooden desk stood, the same wood, the bookshelves where probably made of. The only difference was, that the bookshelves where a bit darker and had patterns carved in the wood.
Behind the desk, there sat an old lady, with that typical librarian look. Not only was she basically wearing a lace curtain, she also had that gray hair in a strict up-do and a pair of glasses, in a terrible shade of lime, that only made her look even paler. I swore to myself, that when I got older, I would never look like that. I would be perfect.
I took a step in. My footsteps echoed on the marble floor, decorated with different patterns, and up to the ceiling, a dome, the glass darkened, so only little sunlight came through. The only other windows where thin windows over the bookshelves, where the glass was colored.
I stood in front of a row of bookshelves. I could feel the librarians eyes on me, as I walked through the rows. There was small space between the two bookshelves, and very dark.
The good thing about the library was the size. I had the day before looked through the whole library register, and it took about 5 minutes to find the three books. Behind the rows of bookshelves, was a group of comfy-looking armchairs. I sat down on one in the middle, beside a oil-lamp, hanging on the wall.
I looked at the books. They where all old. Every book I had walked past, looked as if it hadn't been dusted in a long time. I could only sigh at the librarians poor work, keeping the books clean.
I looked a bit in the three books, and chose the one, which seemed most reliable.
I opened the leathery book. It wasn't unusual for a book to have the first page blanc, or in a color. But on this deep purple page, was something written. It was small and handwritten in dark red ink.
This was written by me and me only.
Anyone who claims to have found these spells, or written this masterpiece
must live his or her life.in misery and fear until death will come.
It is strictly forbidden to convey these secrets.
All of these spells are very simple to follow. For more complex spells, read my diary.
None of these spells are reversible.
Yours sincerely,
Cigma Iéd.
***
Funny how time passes when you have fun, people say. I wouldn't know. I have never really had fun. Or maybe it is fun to watch my sister. I am not sure.
I do not know if it was fun to read the book, but time passed.
I glanced at the bronze watch hanging on the wall, above me, and saw that an hour had already passed.
Since I had found the page I needed, it was no problem to me, to rip the paper out of the book. Carefully, the old paper fell in my hand, and I quickly rolled the parchment together, and put it in the pocket of my dress.
My steps echoed again, as I found my way through the bookshelves and out to the front door. The librarian was looking over her glasses at me again. And a little twisted smile appeared on her old, pink lipstick colored lips.
It must have been my imagination, but for just a second, it seemed like she knew exactly what I was doing, and what was hidden safely away in my pocket.
***
My sister was in her room. It was like a sign. Perfect people didn't break down. She had lost the control of her perfection, and it was my job to fix it. To not let the perfection die in vain.
Carefully I pulled out the rose. I managed to get it, without doing any harm to the other roses, and without to scratch myself on the thorns. I quickly got inside again, running past the living room, to the stairs. I could see father sitting in the living room, reading a newspaper as always. He had heard me, I wasn't extremely loud, but I was still hard to overhear, but apparently choose to ignore me.
I had already the most things ready.
I carefully placed the blood-red rose in the vase, filled with water so it didn't dry out.
***
Kamilah came to say goodnight as usual. She gave me a long hug. The little scissor was hidden in the sleeve of my nightdress. She leaned and let a sigh out. Snip, snap, and a little lock of her hair laid in my hand. Quickly I hid the scissor and lock in my sleeve again.
Kamilah sat down, and looked at me. She kissed me on the forehead.
"Goodnight" she said softly, but I could see tears in her eyes. Perfect people don't cry.
Perfect people don't break.
"Goodnight..." I murmured.
And then she left.
I lay still in my bed, until I could see the lights turn in her room, through my window, showing that Kamilah had entered it. After a short time, another one walked in, father. He always said goodnight to her. She reminded him of mom. While I... I didn't belong. Dark hair like him. And that was it. There was no place for me, no place for my green eyes.
He left again, and the room went dark again. I then stood up, ad lightened the oil lamp by the desk, so I could read the ripped-off paper from the library book.
I then followed the instructions, and placed the rose blades in a little tin can. Followed by that, I cut of the thorns, and also placed them in the tin can.
The window was open, and let the moonlight in, as the instructions said, letting also a night breeze in.
A tea spoon honey, and then I filled the can half full with goat milk. It looked like anything would look, if you mixed those things.
I hold the lock of hair over the tin can, and spoke the words, I had carefully practiced throughout the day.
Every step I follow you in the wrong direction
I study you until I will get your perfection
Everything you do is put into my collection
I follow you until I will get your perfection
I let it drop into the mixture, and the mixture sizzled, and looked ghostly and dangerous in the moonlight.
Perfect.
