Outside the window, it was about eight in the evening. But... the sun still hadn't left. As if pretending it was going to leave, but at the last moment decided to stay.
An impolite sun.
Doesn't it know that by eight in the evening it's supposed to disappear beyond the horizon?
Concepts of time didn't exist here. But by the trajectory of the sun, one could guess the time of day. But guessing how much time was left wasn't working. As for us... we were in the library. About ten thousand books and not a single one that would immediately say "here it is, the one you need". Everything as usual.
Among them were forbidden ones too. Books that could grant you unimaginable power. And not necessarily through knowledge. Sometimes just by the fact that you opened them. Many were sealed. Forbidden. Not subject to reading.
Not at all.
Not now. Not later. Not ever.
But we needed only one. The one that would tell what those very four bloody lines meant. Yes, yes, the ones that adorned the wall. I doubt they were written by someone with an art education.
The search began. We split into groups, each with their own shelf, their own ladder, their own desperate enthusiasm. Fortunately, there really were ladders here. The shelves rose like towers, as if they held the very salvation of the world. Or its end.
Some grimoires immediately gave away their abnormality. An aura emanated from them, real, without any metaphors. It would be safer not to associate with them even within a three-meter radius. There was a feeling they would blow you up at the slightest touch.
Well... nice to know the library cares about its readers.
Most of the books contained… something like diaries. The knowledge of one person. The owner of this house. As if he, at some point in his life, decided "Let the whole world know how I thought."
Perhaps he really was powerful. So much so as to evoke respect. Or fear. Or envy.
Was he a god? Or just a man? No one will give a precise answer to this question. Although it doesn't matter, because it wasn't about him.
But here's what's important, this is where it all began. The games. The witch. Us. The love he believed in. The fear that came after it.
He feared parting. And, using everything he knew, he sealed the witch. Her body, her soul, everything that had ever lived in her. Forever, on this island.
Fear gave birth to pain.
Pain became suffering.
And now it's a vicious circle.
It hurts — it's scary. It's scary — it hurts. Welcome to human life. Perhaps this is its main law.
Some think if there were less suffering in the world, it would be better. But isn't it man who generates fear? The fear of loss. The fear of betrayal. The fear of powerlessness. Exactly him.
We ourselves take the first step towards pain. We open a door that shouldn't have even existed. And afterwards we live as if we don't know who built it.
We create these monsters. These feelings. These sufferings. They live inside us, but we act as if it's someone else's fault.
So did he. He couldn't resist. His mind turned out to be weak. And, as a result, he didn't save the one he loved, but forever distorted her.
And now, she. The one who was once beloved. Now the mistress of the island. The creator of games. Once in an eternity, she arranges all this anew. Again and again. With different participants. From different times. Without warning.
Meanwhile... The sun finally set. At last.
Night fell.
Quiet. Unusually so.
Even frighteningly so.
The rustle of foliage.
Sounds of the forest.
The calm ocean.
Too calm.
It always rained before.
Cloudy sky. Heavy drops. Damp walls.
Here, rains are not an anomaly. They are the norm.
And yet today it's dry. This is alarming. Because sometimes calm is the harbinger of a storm.
Calm is a mask. And under the mask… who knows what.
There were already several hundred books on the floor. All this would have to be collected later. Put back in order. No magic, only manual labor.
Two hours of search. Nothing, empty. This could last forever.
And then... It hit me. The second day.
Like back then. When I went out to get a drink of water. And returned to find only blood.
In the first game, the witch accused Enua. Said he was the killer. And now he is in his room.
And then I thought:
«Could it be that on the second day he… killed everyone in the library?»
I ran out. Without warning. The others didn't even have time to ask a question.
Morgana immediately after me, Cheryl too. They reacted instantly.
If I want to prove his innocence… If I really want to… then I must start with the main thing.
First, convince myself. Personally.
Until now, I just believed. Blindly, without proof, because he didn't seem bad. And now?
Can I trust him?
I thought, yes, I wanted to believe it. But that's not enough.
The first game clearly showed, if you want to believe, first make sure. Then decide.