The rain had been falling all night. It tapped softly against the windows of Aria’s small attic room, the sound constant and oddly comforting. Everything around her was quiet. Still. Except for her thoughts.

She sat cross-legged on the bed, staring at the envelope in her hands.

It looked old. The paper was thick and smooth, almost like something from another time. Her name was written in black ink on the front "Aria Varin". No stamp. No sender. No real reason why it should even exist.

She had found it on her under door that morning. Just sitting there, dry, despite the storm outside. Almost like it had been waiting for her.

...Inside was a single sheet of paper. ...

...The message was short, formal, and strange:...

...You have been selected for full admission to Elowen Hall....

...Report to Platform 9 at Meremont Station....

...Boarding time: 4:44 a.m....

That was it. No explanation. No details about the school. No mention of a scholarship application, or how they’d even found her. She hadn’t applied to anything. Not since the accident. Not since her mother died.

And yet… something about the letter felt important. Heavy. Like it was more than paper. Like it was a choice.

4:42 a.m.

The train station was nearly empty. Most of the lights flickered, and the air smelled like rust and old rain. Aria clutched her coat tighter around her shoulders as she made her way down to Platform 9.

She half-expected to find nothing there. Maybe this was a prank. Or a mistake. But when she turned the corner, she saw it: a silver train, long and old-fashioned, waiting in silence. Steam curled from beneath it like breath in the cold.

There were no signs. No other passengers. Just a set of doors that opened the moment she stepped closer.

something deep inside her, something quiet and aching, told her not to.

But still she stepped onto the train.

The ride felt like a blur. The windows showed only snow and shadows, and she couldn’t tell how long they’d been moving. She must have fallen asleep at some point, because when she opened her eyes again, everything had changed.

The train had stopped.

Outside was a tall iron gate, and beyond it stood Elowen Hall.

The school looked like a castle. Towering stone walls, snow-covered rooftops, and windows glowing faintly in the gray morning light. It didn’t look like a university. It looked like something out of a dream or maybe a nightmare?

Aria stepped off the train, her breath curling in the cold.

She walked through the gate, drawn forward by something she couldn’t name. Something just beneath the surface.

there was a brass plaque glinted above the entrance:

...“Knowledge is Memory....

...Memory is Power....

...Power must be Earned.”...

And that’s when she heard it.

“Aria Varin,” a voice called from the steps.

A man stood there, tall and serious, dressed in a long black coat. His eyes were sharp and unreadable.

“I’m Professor Thorne,” he said. “You’ve arrived. The Ivory Library is waiting.”

Aria swallowed hard.

She had no idea what that meant.

And just like that, Aria’s story began.

With no friends.

No answers.

And a library full of books that whispered her name.

Aria followed Professor Thorne through a long, quiet hallway.

The floors were made of dark stone.Tall windows lined the walls, but the view outside was fogged over. Candles flickered in silver holders, their flames barely moving, like they were holding their breath.

No students passed them. No voices echoed. It was like the school was asleep.

“Elowen doesn’t follow a normal schedule,” Thorne said without turning around.

“Classes begin at dusk. Most students are still arriving.”

Aria nodded silently. She wasn’t sure what to say. She still didn’t know why she was here or what here even was.

They stopped in front of a tall wooden door with a strange symbol carved into it. It looked like an open book with a key resting on its pages.

“This is the Ivory Library,”

Thorne said.

“It’s older than the school itself. You’ve been assigned as a student assistant. You’ll spend your evenings here, helping others and keeping records.”

He pushed open the door.

The scent hit her first the old paper, dust, Something… ancient.

The room beyond wasn’t just a library. It was a maze.

Tall shelves stretched up into darkness, filled with books that looked untouched in years. White ladders leaned against the sides. A glass ceiling far above let in soft moonlight, even though it was still early morning.

And the books:

They weren’t labeled. No titles. No authors. Just smooth ivory covers.

“Each book in this library writes itself,”

Thorne said, his voice quieter now.

“They record stories. Lives. Sometimes futures.”

Aria stared at the nearest shelf. A single book stood slightly apart from the others. Its cover looked newer, untouched. As if it had just been placed there.

“Do they ever stop writing?” she asked.

Thorne looked at her, his expression unreadable. “Only when the story ends.”

He left her with a soft-spoken woman named Elin, She looked like she hadn’t left the library in years, her dark hair, and her fingers were stained with ink.

“You’ll learn as you go,” Elin told her. “We don’t explain much here. That’s part of the test.”

Aria spent the next hour dusting shelves, organizing loose papers, and trying not to stare too long at the blank books. Most of them sat still.

But some… moved.

Every now and then, a page would turn. A soft rustle. A whisper.

She reached out once, her fingers brushing the spine of one of the ivory books.

Her name was written on the cover.

Aria Varin.

She pulled her hand back quickly.

“What happens if you read your own story?” she asked Elin.

The woman didn’t look up. “Most people don’t want to know how it ends.”

Aria stared at the book for a long time.

She didn’t open it.

Well Not yet.

.

.

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

Aria stayed in the library long after the candles burned low.

Elin had gone hours ago, leaving her with a set of instructions, a feather duster, and a small oil lamp that flickered with every breath of air. She didn’t mind the silence. It felt safer than noise. But the silence in the Ivory Library wasn’t empty.

It was watching.

She wandered the aisles slowly, unsure what she was even supposed to be doing. Most books were untouched, lined in neat rows. Some had strange marks, dots, tiny faded letters in languages she didn’t recognize.

And sometimes, a page would turn.

Not loudly. Not like in movies. Just a soft flutter, like someone had exhaled too close to the paper.

She told herself it was wind. Just wind.

But deep down, she knew better.

Around midnight, she found herself standing in front of her book again.

...It hadn’t moved since she last saw it. Still resting halfway out of the shelf, like it was waiting for her. The ivory cover was smoother than the others, the edges sharp and new. Her name still sat in small, dark letters on the front:...

...ARIA VARIN...

She touched the spine again.

Nothing happened.

Then \= flip.

A single page turned inside the book.

Her breath caught. She hadn’t moved. Hadn’t even opened it. But somehow, it had opened itself.

Her eyes drifted down to the page, just for a second.

And then she froze.

...“She looked over her shoulder, heart pounding, but the hallway behind her was empty. Or it should have been.”...

Aria took a step back. That sentence… it hadn’t happened. Not yet.

But she had the strange, horrible feeling that it would.

And then:

A soft creak behind her.

She turned quickly. The hallway outside the library was dim, lit only by wall lanterns that flickered like they were being blown by an unseen wind.

No one was there.

She stared for a long moment.

Then slowly, she stepped into the corridor.

The hallway stretched into darkness. She took a few careful steps, half-expecting to see someone or anyone at the end.

But it was empty.

Until she passed the first arch.

A shadow darted across the wall. Quick. Wrong.

Aria stopped breathing.

It didn’t feel like a student. It didn’t even feel human.

She turned and ran back to the library, heart racing.

The door closed behind her on its own.

Inside, the air was even colder than before. The book still lay open on the shelf, the same sentence staring back at her. She slammed it shut.

Whatever this place was, it wasn’t just a school.

The books didn’t just tell stories.

They warned.

And now, it felt like something had seen her.

.

.

.

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