The next page in the book turns crisply in your hand. Vivid images painting the scene rolling through your mind just as quickly as your eyes move across the printed words. The climax. A final battle that has been the culmination of so much strife and dedication for the main character. You have found it increasingly difficult to put the book down as you continued to careen toward the end.

While the hero engages in a pitched battle against Wrathwing, the demon-dragon, reality outside of these pages adds to the atmosphere in your imagination as a rumble of thunder shakes at the distant skies. Something unfortunately briefly distracting, rather than being immersive.

You turn your eyes, looking over to the library window. Hours have passed since you sat down with the latest in the Goreblaster series, and now even the hall, usually very familiar to you, takes a few seconds to feel natural once again. Rows of wooden shelving line the walls, dull tomes of every color filling them to almost bursting—indeed, there are a few side tables with small towers awaiting a proper space to roost.

The seating arrangement around you is empty and has been for a while. It’s usually rather quiet even on a good day, but the bad weather had chased away any other bookworms. Not that a little rain bothered you, of course. The library had always been a home away from home. Especially when the rest of the family is away.

With the dragon and the intense fight sinking away from your imagination, you focus on the raindrops hitting the wide window. A little precipitation can be nice, and you have mostly blocked it out as white noise while you dug into the story. Now that the trees are swaying erratically, the wind brings focused bursts of the rainfall against the pains of glass. It looks like things are getting worse.

That said… the library isn’t a terrible place to be under such circumstance. It is slightly up a hill, on the edge of town so that it won’t get flooded. Built with solid brick as it used to be… what was it again? Your brain slowly trudges through the dull history homework that school gave you years ago. A fortress maybe, or barracks.

You take a deep breath and try to get back into the finale taking place in your hands, but find yourself re-reading the same sentence twice over. Your ears are too busy filling up with the sounds of the gloomy weather. You’re wondering if it would be a good idea to get home before it gets any worse.

It’s your book, after all. There’s nothing stopping you from finishing it at home… but that’s just it. It’s been a year since you moved back in with your family, and yet it doesn’t feel like your home anymore. You feel… stagnant, and awkward. Things just haven’t been the same since-

“Storm is picking up, dear.”

You twitch slightly, and your muscles tense up before you look over to the side. The librarian, Chloe Jones. Light on her feet, and fastidious about the library being in order. While she is rather aloof and disjointed with most people in the town, you have some rapport with her. You are one of the most frequent of patrons, of course.

Today’s cat-themed knitted jumper she wears is white kittens playing with feathers on a dark blue background. It was a wonder that her wardrobe had such a varied selection all under the same theme, and you long suspected she had them custom made. Her long brown and gray hair is tied up in a ponytail, and her speckled face has an expression of genuine concern on it.

“How bad is it meant to get?” you ask.

She shrugs and shakes her head. “Possibly one of the worst in years. The cell tower has an issue, so reception is spotty and I can't get information in." Chloe looks toward the doors. “As much as the library is a secure place to shelter, I must get home myself. Mr. Buttons can’t be left alone once the lightning really starts.”

You have seen a picture of her cat once before. Not usually something she cared to share with many, but the white cat with black splotches did almost look like he wore a buttoned up waistcoat. Even his facial markings gave him the appearance of having a mustache.

With a sigh, you close the book. “I understand. It wouldn’t be a good idea to get stuck here if it lasts until nightfall.”

The librarian gives you a brief nod. “I’m going to go get ready to lock up. Stay safe on your journey home.” She turns and leaves for the back room behind the counter.

This isn’t exactly the day you had originally planned, but at least once you are home you might be able to get this book finished up and then… probably tidy up a bit. Actually, if the storm is going to be bad, then hunkering down in bed with some good music might be nice.

From beneath the desk, you withdraw your backpack and slide the book inside. At least you had the foresight to bring your rain jacket, for as good as it would do. With the zip of the bag done up, you then stand and stretch out. If there is one complaint that you can make about the library, it is that the chairs aren’t that comfortable. Not for an extended period of time. You had left a note in the suggestion box a few weeks back, but you are also sure the librarian just has it there for show. This was her domain.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

You adjust your top, pulling the hood up over your hair. With a stretch of your toes in your sneakers, and a gentle push to put the chair under the table, that is it. There is no option but to face the storm now.

Just as you take a step forward, the white flash of lightning briefly illuminates the library. Walking over to the coat rack near the door, you count the seconds between it and the deep rumbling of thunder echoing through the clouds. Eight seconds.

Reasonably close, maybe a few miles by your estimate. When the next one would come, you will need to count again and see if it is getting closer. You put your bag on the floor and pull the jacket on. There are two other coats remaining on the pegs, but with a quick glance back to the open space of the library, there definitely isn’t anyone else here other than the librarian.

Maybe a spare, or lost property.

“I’m leaving now,” you yell out. “You stay safe as well.”

Several seconds of complete silence follow. You breathe in deeply and deflate. She will probably get the picture once she came out and you were missing. With a shrug, you pull down on the brass handle and open the door to the outside.

The rough wind that immediately blows against you has you second guessing your decision to leave the safety of the library. Peppered with rain, you grimace and pull the door to close behind you, sealing your fate. Covering your eyes partially, you glare out at the surrounding trees, the tall shapes shedding occasional leaves as they sway animatedly with the constant gusts.

A white flash illuminates everything, and you start counting. Making your way down the slick steps toward the main street, the earth-shaking rattle of thunder came at seven seconds. Getting closer.

With a glance toward the main town, it looks deserted. Anyone with some common sense will be inside to weather the storm already. With how much worse the storm is getting, you don’t want to spend any more time than necessary being cold and wet. Wasting the rest of your holiday with an illness would make things ten times as miserable as they already are.

You curse the wind and pull the hood of your rain jacket down to stop it from blowing back repeatedly. As much as your parents keep telling you that a bicycle would be handy to have for getting around the small town, riding around in a storm was likely to get you injured. A cab will take too long to get here, even if they are out here working, which seems unlikely at this stage.

The quickest way back home would be… your eyes move over to the right as you weigh up your options. Technically speaking, through part of the woodland will be faster than going along the main road in town. Despite the brochures determining this a quaint and idyllic place, you had never cared much for nature. It was nice enough to look at, but has far too many bugs and not enough civilisation for your liking.

For today, the woodland direction at least has the benefit of the wind not being directly in your face. You have traveled the route often enough times to know the way, and so with the pelting precipitation guiding your decision, you turn off the sidewalk and move across the grass towards the trees.

Another flash and rumble. This time… six seconds. You shiver, for as much as your jacket keeps the rain off of your torso, your legs are slowly soaking through. You have already committed to having muddied sneakers by choosing this route, but have glazed past the reality of getting drenched. At least once you got under the tree cover, it should block some of the rainfall. You have definitely earned a hot bath once you got home.

By instinct, you feel around your pockets. Phone and keys are still there, although it is too wet out to check the former. While the town lags behind most of the world with technology, there will be some manner of back-up if the cell tower was down, you hope. A day or two without the internet will be pretty dire. Actually, you knew exactly which books on your overburdened shelf you will re-read to pass the time.

Sometimes it was nice to stick with the familiar.

The woodland now moving overhead and blocking out some of the gloomy skies shakes and rustles aggressively as you move beneath them. There is a rough pathway that leads in the direction you need to go. Little more than a foot-wide stretch of mud where footfall and bikes have worn away at any vegetation that wants to grow there. It was now slick thanks to the terrible weather, so you walk along just beside it.

Although already grimacing, you scowl further, looking down deeper into the woods. They go on for a good mile or two before a main road, and then another handful before another town almost identical to this one. They are dotted about the state, each purporting to be just as picturesque—if not more so—than all their sister towns.

What you wouldn’t give for some time in the city. Now that would be more of a holiday than trying to avoid whatever life you had now fallen into.

From here, however, all you can see are thick trunks and windswept vegetation. At least for a few hundred feet, and then there is an ominous gloom. The other thing you don’t like about the woodlands is that there were nearly zero landmarks. It is difficult to navigate when everything was a plant. If it wasn’t for the pathway you now diligently strode parallel to, you wouldn’t even attempt this route.

Stepping on a slicker patch of grass, your foot then gave way, sliding and sinking into some softer mud.

You curse as you stumble forwards, barely catching your footing to remain upright. Now mud completely covers your right shoe, the moisture soaking through to your sock. As much as you knew this was inevitable, you swear under your breath repeatedly all the same.

A flash of lightning has you wince, the thunder coming only four seconds after it.

Running would only have you ending up face first in the mud, so you just gather your resolve to set off again. Why your house has to be almost on the opposite side of the town to the library, you don’t know. Suited the fact that you are trying to…

Your thoughts sink out of your mind before you could grab a solid hold of them. While the long rumble echoed through the clouds, you stop and tilt your head at something that seems out of place.

Just over to the right, about thirty feet away from the path, was a red doorway.

Aged and worn, the ruined brickwork barely clinging to the thick frame made it appear to be the last standing piece of a house long crumbled to nothing. But there wasn’t any homes built out this way in the woods.

Nor have you seen it any other time you had gone down this route, and it was clearly visible from the path.

Maybe it was a small shed or bunker that has been revealed by the storm tearing away at plants? You clench your fists tight and sigh through the intermittent downpour.

With curiosity and the glimmer of hope for shelter, you step away from the path to approach the door that you have found.