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Stay here.

Stay there.

What happened to him?

The question haunted me. I made my way back, shivering as I stepped back inside. I didn’t know it was the cold—or something else. But whatever it was, it lingered, haunting me as I made my way back to the library.

I pulled the book of poetry free, turning over the cover to read the inscription once more.

For L.

So you remember.

L?

I lifted my focus to the doorway. The house was too quiet now. So quiet I could hear my pulse in my ears. A sound that grew louder with every second that passed. I turned away, driving that focus to the books instead. Only I didn’t just see faded spines and frayed corners now. I saw a map. One I wanted to explore.

I moved to the further edge, trailing my fingers and gaze along every book, pulling some free to open the covers, searching for a hint of the man who controlled my movements. I searched some of the closer books. Poetry by the looks of it.

I picked one staring at the name. “Sylvia Plath. Never heard of her,” I muttered. “Then again what have I heard living in a cell.”

I opened it, stopped at a page. “I am. I am. I am.” The words simple. Too simple.

Yet they resounded deep inside me.

“I am.” I murmured and flicked through the rest of the short book, then slid it back where it belonged and moved on.

The next book was heavier.

Thicker.

The spine cracked as I opened it, the pages stiff beneath my fingers. Different. Not soft. Not gentle. The words sat heavier on the page. Not offering comfort. Not offering anything at all. My eyes caught on a line.

You were not meant to stay as you are.

I frowned. My fingers stilled against the page. That wasn’t right. It couldn’t be. Stay as I am? Who would want to be… this. No one. No one would want what I’d lived though. What I endured. This life wasn’t meant to exist—just endure.

That gnawing ache waited. But something else pressed deeper, like a bruise under pain. One I didn’t want to feel. I pulled away and turned the page quickly. Still the words stayed anyway.

I wanted to shove the book back into place. I wanted to flee. This place was no library. It was a mire filled with hungry vines and piercing thorns. Ones that dragged me in deeper.

I should’ve know. I saw it when Guild drove me here.

How the overgrown ivy reached out desperately.

This place wanted me.

I closed my eyes as that bruise inside ached deeper.

But when I opened my eyes I didn’t just see books.

I saw him.

His pain.

His secrets.

My breath caught. My own pain transformed. Growing. Clawing. Changing. The shadows and the vines of this place wasn’t a trap. It was him.