What do you suppose “ownership” means? What makes something belong to another? Lately I thought of this often, and it was why I trespassed in the restricted section of the biblioclausa, using the Key I borrowed from Grandfather, reading books that were not meant to be read. The clearest definition I could find was “The act, state, or right of owning something.”, but all that did was return me to my question: how does one define owning? What does it mean? I opened many of the clausa’s locked books, even opened more when the Key wriggled in my hand, desperate to jump into the moonlight flowing through the skylights. I denied it, knowing full well it longed for the First Moon’s light, the dead moon’s light. It would never be satisfied by the Second Moon. I knew Grandfather would be cross, but what was I to do? I must know. Ever since I was a child the man who was my father told me that my duty was to shift things from others and give them to Grandfather, that this was not stealing as they did not own the things I took... The Key wormed, twisting around my fingers as if responding to my thoughts. What I was looking for was not here... I could return, to Grandfather, but I wanted to know... There was one other place, a personal library, only left vacant at the oddest hours of the night. I could go now. I shouldn’t, but I could go now. So I went.
Archbishop Fledger’s eighth summer home had an absurd level of security. An eighteen layer cryptozoological lock jived back and forth on the door. Grandfather’s Key opened it in seconds. Of course guards or even cameras would have made this quite a bit harder, but neither were present. Only a complete idiot would implement either in a place so rife with materials this illegal. I entered the study, and triggered the door hidden behind the bookshelf, into a narrow, snaking hallway. Five minutes in and the insides started closing in on me, some kind of crushing trap. I pushed through faster and faster, hurrying to the door at the end. It was sealed shut, and the walls were flattening me. I crammed the Key into the door, and the Key tore into the door, eating it from the inside. It took eight seconds for the door to pop open, and I fell into the room. Immediately I turned, cramming my hand into the door, grasping for the Key. If it ate too much it’d grow fat, and worse, even more rambunctious.
“4 minutes, 32 seconds. You’ve gotten faster, caterpillar.”
I froze.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Don’t stop. You’ve almost got it.”
He was right. The Key was back in my hands in just a few more seconds. Sheepishly, I turned, and looked at the man older than the man who was my father. Or his father. Or his father’s father. His hair a silver gray, his skin slightly wrinkled, like an old book, all accompanied by a disarming smile. If I hadn’t known him he’d probably be charming. He checked his watch, a fine piece made of platinum and leafed with bronze, a contrast to the rags he wore. Grandfather had finally caught me.
Grandfather was not the kind to make accusations. He knew what I was doing, knew that I had borrowed the Key, but he had never caught me, so it was as if I never did it. But he caught me now.
“So caterpillar, why did you steal my key?”
Borrowed, I corrected. I would never take what is not mine to take. His lips danced.
“Borrowed then. I must ask, why?”
I hesitated, then spoke. Does it matter?
“Of course! Your answer decides whether I punish you, or skin you.”
I knew I had to be persuasive, he had been wanting some fresh leather even since his Book’s cover had cracked. The problem is that I cannot lie to this man, never to this man. And, well, my doubts are... heretical in nature. Lacking a better answer, I told him the truth. He chuckled, then laughed, and between the two I could hear the whispers, the barely restrained madness.
“A man only owns what the rules say he owns. That is all.”
He rolled the Key tween his boney fingers, and it was only then that I realized he took it from me.
But I take things from others and give them to you. Does this not break the rules set by society?
“Caterpillar, caterpillar... I follow rules set by higher beings than the mere Biblioarcy.”
I grimaced. It was an unsatisfying answer, something I already knew.
He walked past me, and I felt the writhing beneath my skin.
“Butterfly, that’ll be your name now. I’ll let you borrow my Key for as long as you don’t have an answer. Once you find one, come and tell me. I’ll decide your punishment then.”
The oldest man smiled like fully bloomed nightshade, and from that day forward I knew my name. It was only later that I learned everything I could wrap my fingers around belonged to me.