Airam and Pandora walked side by side toward the library. For the first time, Airam found herself really noticing Pandora’s appearance. Her honey-blonde hair fell in loose waves that framed her doll-like face, and her wide, expressive hazel eyes—flecked with gold—seemed to study the world with an almost uncanny awareness.
“What changes did you feel?” Airam asked hesitantly, her curiosity outweighing her reservations.
Pandora tilted her head, a mysterious smile tugging at her lips. “I’ll show you in the library,” she said, her voice carrying an edge of excitement, as though she were about to unveil a secret.
When they pushed open the heavy wooden doors, Airam’s breath caught. The library was immense, its soaring ceilings supported by carved beams, and walls lined with towering shelves that seemed to stretch endlessly upward. Soft, golden light filtered through high, arched windows, casting a warm glow over the rows of polished wooden tables and the occasional leather armchair tucked into cozy nooks. The faint scent of old paper and leather bindings hung in the air, a quiet sanctuary in the bustling school.
“What section do you think we’ll need?” Airam asked, her voice lowered instinctively in the hushed space.
“The history section,” Pandora replied confidently, her hazel eyes glinting with purpose. “There’s something I found there that I think you’ll want to see.”
As they climbed the winding staircase to the second floor of the library, the air seemed to grow quieter, heavier with the scent of aged paper and varnished wood. The history section was tucked away in the far corner, where only a few stray students lingered, absorbed in their own studies. Airam and Pandora set their things down at a desk nestled against the shelves at the very back of the room.
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“I’ll be right back,” Pandora said, her voice soft but certain, as she moved purposefully toward the shelves. Airam watched her, her honey-blonde hair catching the muted light as she scanned the spines of books with an almost predatory precision. Her eyes lit up when she found what she was looking for. Pulling a thick, leather-bound book off the shelf, she returned to the desk, a spark of excitement in her hazel eyes.
“Crestwood Heights doesn’t just stock history books about America,” Pandora began, setting the book carefully on the desk. “They also preserve the history of the school and our town—including photographs.”
She opened the book to a page near the middle, its crackling pages releasing a faint musty smell. Airam leaned in as Pandora flipped through the pages until she found what she was looking for.
“Like these,” Pandora said, laying the book flat on the desk and nudging it toward Airam.
Airam hesitated before looking down. The spread was filled with sepia-toned photographs from the 1920s. Students in old-fashioned uniforms gathered in the school courtyard, their expressions ranging from stoic to joyfully candid.
“Why are you showing me this?” Airam asked, furrowing her brow. The photographs, though intriguing, felt irrelevant.
“Keep looking,” Pandora urged, her voice calm but insistent.
Reluctantly, Airam’s gaze drifted across the photos. Then her eyes locked onto one, and her breath caught. It was an image of two girls, their arms linked as they posed near the grand entrance of the school. One of the girls was dressed in a drop-waist dress, her dark curls pinned back under a delicate cloche hat, her features strikingly similar to Airam’s. The other wore a pleated skirt and a wide-brimmed hat adorned with feathers, her long, light brown hair cascading in soft waves. She looked just like Dahlia.
Airam’s chest tightened as unease began to creep in. “Pandora… is this some kind of joke?” she whispered, her voice trembling as she struggled to process what she was seeing.
Pandora leaned closer, her hazel eyes glittering with a mix of curiosity and something Airam couldn’t quite place. “It’s not a joke. But you see it too, don’t you?