The Library Remembers

Evelyn burst through the rusted gate, heart pounding like a drum in her chest. The morning sun felt too bright, too warm, after the chill of the library’s darkness. She didn’t stop running until she reached the edge of the woods, where her breaths came in sharp gasps and her thoughts spun like leaves in the wind.

She had spoken to a vampire.

A living, breathing—well, sort of breathing—vampire, chained inside an abandoned library for two centuries.

Her mind refused to settle. It was impossible. Yet she had seen his eyes. Heard his voice. Felt the truth hanging heavy in the air like cobwebs.

By the time she returned to her grandfather’s house, her hands were trembling. She didn’t speak during breakfast. Didn’t mention the chains. The glowing eyes. Or the whispers in the dark. He watched her from across the table with knowing eyes but said nothing.

That afternoon, she sat beneath the willow tree in the backyard, clutching her notebook. Its pages were filled with half-finished stories and wild ideas. None of them compared to what she’d just lived.

She flipped to a new page and wrote one word at the top: Lucien.

Who had imprisoned him? Why did he say she was “late”? And what kind of magic lived in that place?

She needed answers.

That night, she returned.

The sky was deep blue, streaked with stars, and the library stood silent, its broken windows gleaming like dark mirrors. She hesitated at the threshold, her flashlight tucked in one hand, a scarf tied around her neck to block the cold.

Inside, the air felt thicker, heavier, as if the building exhaled with every step she took. She followed her earlier path—past the fallen shelves, over the cracked marble floor—until she reached the central pillar.

Lucien was still there.

He looked up the moment she entered. “You came back,” he said softly.

“I said I would.”

For a moment, something flickered across his face. Relief? Surprise? It vanished too quickly to name.

Evelyn crouched a few feet away. “I have questions.”

He gave a small nod. “Then ask.”

“Why me?” she said. “Why did you say I was late?”

Lucien tilted his head. “Because I saw you once. In a dream. Or perhaps a memory not yet lived.”

“That’s not possible.”

“With magic,” he said gently, “everything is.”

Evelyn swallowed. “Who cursed you?”

“A friend. Or someone I thought was one. He feared what I had become… and what I might reveal.”