Allen’s POV:

“A Dummy’s Guide to Myths and Legends”, curiosity flickered in his eyes at David’s selection. The choice was vastly different from David's previous selection, yet, after a moment's consideration, Allen found it fitting.

Much more fitting than the steamy erotica novel he had chosen on his first visit that’s for sure. Allen didn’t judge people by their reading habits, but he had once again been surprised by the range of novels the store offered.

“Good choice.”

“Thank you.” There was audible relief in the timid young man’s voice.

Allen appreciated the young man’s simple nature, finding it charming. It was a nice distraction from his own fears and often pessimistic thoughts. He also couldn’t deny the present’s influence on his stance. Did he just get bribed by a slice of cake?

“Would it be a purchase or a borrow today?”

“...borrow, please.”

Handing over a clipboard for the necessary signature, Allen observed as David stared down at the paper, momentarily frozen. Allen discreetly checked for any unexpected clauses that he might have missed while reading over it earlier.

There was nothing amiss. It only requested a signature acknowledging the book was expected back within the month or there would be a penalty fee. Was the fee too expensive? He had found the contract in the store and the price wasn’t set by him.

Before he could ask, David had already snapped out of his stupor and neatly wrote his full name—David Hollow. Allen's brows furrowed slightly as he observed the young man.

Was he not planning on returning the book? No, such an act didn't align with his character. Moreover, his workplace was conveniently situated within walking distance of the bookstore. He could easily locate him if the need arises.

Reassured, he handed the book to David with a smile.

“Happy reading.”

Allen watched the guy leave. Was he alright? Did he look a little paler than before or was it just the lighting?

Speaking of the lighting, Allen hastily jotted down a reminder on a blank page before he forgot again. He had the memory of a goldfish. The bothersome state of the windows had been gnawing at him for some time, though not as much as the persistent concern about funds.

A customer had suggested a professional window cleaner, but Allen preferred taking matters into his own hands especially if it saved him a few coins. Armed with a wooden bucket and rags from a previous trip outdoors plus hot water from the faucets, he found himself lacking only one crucial element—motivation.

Part of him secretly wished for a robust storm to sweep through and do the window cleaning job for him, or at least make it more manageable.

After some contemplation, he added another line to the scribbles. Exploring the world around him should also be a priority. His confidence had received a boost after the recent stroll outside, devoid of any unexpected encounters with the Grim Reaper.

Contrary to his expectations, the world appeared surprisingly peaceful. The remnants of unfounded worries that lingered in the depths of his subconscious were misleading. They made him doubt the sharpness of his instincts. Perhaps his forgotten personality was more cowardly than he initially recognized.

/Meow?/

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

“Is it already mealtime? Alright, give me a second, and I’ll be there.” Allen responded, momentarily diverting his attention to attend to the needs of his feline companion.

~

Vera’s POV:

In the dimly lit chamber, a woman sat hunched over a worn, leather-bound book. The air crackled with tension and expectation as she traced her fingers over the ancient text.

A simple wooden table, scarred by time, bore the leather-bound book. Its pages, yellowed and frayed, whispered of ancient secrets. Nearby, a solitary candle flickered, its wavering flame creating dancing shadows on the uneven surfaces.

The air, heavy with a musty scent, held the lingering echoes of countless rituals. The walls, adorned with faded tapestries, seemed to absorb the hushed energy of the room.

The woman's chair creaked as she shifted, the only sound besides the faint rustle of pages and the occasional crackle of the candle. A worn rug underfoot hinted at years of use, its once-vibrant colors now muted.

Faint scars could be seen on her arms, evidence of the completion of the first step. The memory of that sacrifice lingered, a visceral reminder of the toll exacted for a taste of greater power. The ritual had almost bled her dry, each drop contributing to the energy swirling within the chamber.

Thankfully, she had been prepared with extra contributors for the ritual, willing of course. She had paid their families handsomely for their loss. They contributed to a greater cause despite their lowly station. They should be grateful.

Seemingly undeterred by anything, the woman's determination burned steadily. Her desire for power acted as a relentless motivator, turning the pain of the ritual into fuel for her unyielding resolve.

From the moment she took the first step onto her current path, turning back was no longer an option. There was only one way—forward.

Finally, her finger paused on the text she was looking for. It was the details of the second step of the ritual. She hesitated.

Memory Surrender.

A war raged behind her fiery eyes but her expression remained stoic. Time seemed to stretch as the energy in the chamber hung in suspended anticipation, awaiting her decision.

After an indeterminate period, the battle seems to have been decided. With a deep breath, the woman steeled herself and made her choice. The only choice.

As the woman meticulously finished marking the last symbol on the floorboard, the sound of knuckles on wood echoed through the room. It wasn’t the door to the chamber, she noted. It was upstairs.

A second, more insistent knock followed not long after, betraying the impatience of the unannounced visitor. Who could it be? Faced with the dilemma of revealing her presence, the woman contemplated whether to feign absence.

"Vera? Are you in there?" queried a muffled voice. It was a familiar voice. Recognition slowly dawned after a moment of searching—it was Zoe, her younger sister.

Vera's face softened, and with a practiced motion, she concealed the arcane setting before returning to her room. The bookshelf slid into place, concealing the stairs leading downwards.

Returning to her room, Vera underwent a transformation, shedding the solemnity of the ritual for a warmer, ordinary demeanor. Her appearance shifted, making her seem much younger after the change.

Her room painted in a calming shade of pale blue, devoid of any arcane traces, appeared as ordinary as could be. The bed, neatly made, held an array of stuffed animals. A soft glow emanated from a bedside lamp adorned with a whimsical shade, casting a warm atmosphere over the room.

On the desk, scattered papers hinted at the presence of a diligent student. There were no signs of her darker interests and experimentations, leaving behind a nostalgic space.

"Vera, Vera!" Zoe called, her excitement evident. "Dinner's ready! Mom and Dad are waiting! Come on, let's eat together!"

Today marked Zoe's sixth birthday, and the celebratory dinner featured all her favorites, with mashed potatoes soaked in gravy being a non-negotiable inclusion. They never liked big parties, preferring to keep the celebrations small. All we need is the four of us.

A faint smile graced her lips at the memory.

"Alright, Zoe. Let’s not keep them waiting for too long."

~

After finishing their meal, a man and a cat shared a moment of quiet companionship. One wrestled with writer's block, while the other stared with unbreaking focus out of the window.

A couple of hours later, the man gave up after witnessing the embarrassing amount of progress, some of which desperately needed to be scrapped. He stretched out his shoulders which remained chronically sore from his bad posture. A motion outside caught his eye.

“Midnight, look.” Allen pointed at the rain-smeared windows. “It’s raining.” Raindrops rhythmically tapped on the bookstore windows, each one carrying a quiet burden as it streaked down the glass.

Outside, the streets surrendered to the downpour. Subtle ripples formed in the puddles, and the cobblestones glistened with a newly-attained sheen. The air felt heavy with an unspoken undercurrent.