The world forgets. What mattered most would one day will scatter into dust—just as we arrived here by nothing more than chance. It's kind of ironic, isn't it… Maybe, just maybe, that's why fleeing into the world of fantasies is so comforting.
To exist somewhere the world can't reach you. In a quiet corner of an invisible world, made just for you and you alone.
It felt like a fantasy, doesn't it? Until it wasn't.
Wooden shelves worn by time, aligned evenly side-by side. Dust floated around ambient lights like snow suspended mid-air. Books glowed on each shelf, their spines lovingly worn, cracked and familiar.
The soft rustle of a turning page, audible from somewhere down the hallway. A soft sigh left dry lips, his soft breath curling about smooth, pale cheeks as deft fingers gently closed the cover of the book he was reading. Quiet footsteps of socked-feet tap across the wooden floorboards.
Footsteps echoed through the hallway as flickering candlelight struggled against the encroaching shadows. A calming lavender scent flowed through, occasional petals falling from the ceiling. As if the halls were always waiting for someone.
As he finally reached the bookshelf, with a wave of his hand, the book in his arms drifted to its place.
He glanced at a grandfather clock nearby. "It's that time again, it seems."
He flicked his wrist, and all the books in a section drifted towards him, falling open as they settled. Small worlds stirred within their pages, streets moving, skies shifting, lives continuing without pause.
Studying it intently, the quiet ticking of steady clocks around him. He nodded after checking that everything was okay. He set the volume back in its place. His eyes passed over the mirror across the room without stopping, as they always did. A slight tilt of his fingers, and the next book drifted into his palm.
Leaning in to observe it, instead of clean straight lines, a bundle of chaos nestled in its pages. Fingers moved with no hesitation as the quill danced, tugging each strand back into order. The lines resisted for a moment, then snapped in place with a faint hum. He straightened. The room tilted for just a moment before settling. The ticking steadied with it. A minor one. He exhaled. Things settled back to its orderly state.
After checking all the books in each section, he muttered.
"How long has it been…?"
The only sounds were the ticking of clocks and soft bells ringing every so often.
This was his life. Many would say that it was boring, repetitive, yet also peaceful to live in. As the librarian who watches over these stories corroded by time, he stared at the same old hour hands.
Is this all that I'm gonna do today again…? Hm, probably.
And yet, sometimes, he couldn't help thinking that everything would return back to normal if he left this place. But he wasn't sure.
He had to admit…
Each timeline was unique, to say the least. But when they collided and caused chaos, the library always made sure to give him a loud reminder by ringing all the clocks around him.
He still found that unusual, and the chimes bit at the edge of his thoughts. A little annoying, even now. How a place so hidden from the world could hold so much of it within its walls. But it was still his home, so he had no choice.
Sometimes though, he still reminisced about old times, when everything was peaceful.
He let out a soft sigh. Or maybe he did—in this place, it was hard to tell the difference.
"Time moves strangely here… I'm still not used to it, it seems."
Days blurred into years, and the years felt like moments. Sometimes, in the safe space of his bedroom, he tried to remember the life he had before all this.
He wasn't from this world after all.
He had just been a young, bright student with a promising future…
Though it didn't feel as unfamiliar anymore.
He reached out to the last book for today, feeling the cool leather cover under his fingertips. He had always liked the cover—it was detailed yet so… simple.
With careful focus on studying those invisible, delicate lines, he felt a slight shiver down his spine.
"I don't think that is supposed to happen…" His voice sounded smaller than he meant.
Why was this happening again…? Hadn't he already fixed the issue last time? He was sure the lines had been as straight as they could be. So what was the issue now?
He tilted it slightly, bright soft light bleeding into his vision as its streets and skies turned beneath his gaze.
Carriages roamed the streets, guards stood in the blazing sun, and people chattered away without a single care in the world.
There was magic here, but not the kind that should notice him. How was it noticing him? Was it an item? Maybe something else…
"How unusual." A low, absent sound escaped him.
The air shifted, a breath that wasn't his grazed the back of his neck. Goosebumps prickled across his arms as the warmth bled out of the room.
He sighed, wrapping his arms around himself before adjusting to the temperature and letting go. Then grasped the world in his hands and peered through those crowded areas.
His eyes landed on a particular figure. Perhaps his age when he had lived elsewhere.
His appearance was unique. Lavender hair with rose pink eyes.
Unusual… If he were back home, many people would think he was a cosplayer, but here it seemed natural.
"Hm… is that part of the setting?" It reminded him of something. The comics he used to read, maybe. Why was this so common in novels and comics? Oh well…
He was likely the protagonist.
A flicker tugged at the back of his mind, like déjà vu. He chased it for a moment, but it slipped away before it could take shape. Only a faint hollow remained, there and gone.
He sighed as he let the world glide out of his hands and held the book's weight in both. As the world drifted to the side, black text crept across the page, as if it were a sequence that had repeated over and over.
He kept turning the pages, each one leading to the next without thought. Time stretched, the rest of his work slipping away. How long has he been reading this book now?
Mhm…?
His gaze caught on the floating mirror nearby. He peered into it. Nothing seemed to have changed—but a glimmer passed through his eyes. Gone before he could place it.
The book stayed close, his fingers resting against its spine as if it might vanish.
The passages traced the protagonist's movements in detail, his eyes following without rush. Following each sentence…
The crowded market pressed in around him. He navigated the stalls carefully, pausing at a vendor to negotiate prices for some magical root.
The other books floated around him, forgotten. His lavender hair catching the light, his eyes too bright for this dull world.
Words bled onto the page, trailing his every step without pause.
Just as he leaned closer, a new line etched across the page. The ink curled into place as if aware of his gaze.
"You're not supposed to be watching me."
His lungs locked, chest straining against silence.
The clocks above him skipped a tick. One of the bells gave a sharp chime, then fell silent. It was silent—completely silent. Even the faint sound of ticking stopped.
That line wasn't narration.
It was a message.
Had he nudged something out of place?
His hands stayed still. The page waited.
And yet, something thrummed faintly under his skin…
His chest rose a little sharper with the next breath. The words on the page held him, his eyes following long after the sentence ended.
A faint warmth lingered at the edge of awareness, easily mistaken for the glow of the candles, or the tick of the clocks. Caught without knowing why.
The breath that left him was sharper than he intended. The thrum in his chest wouldn't quiet. Steady, insistent. Like something that had decided to stay.
"That was probably a coincidence."
Letting the book glide back to its place, heavy footsteps echoed through the halls before a bang broke the silence.
He rolled onto his side, reaching for the worn rabbit plush without thought. Its fabric was threadbare and loose, seams barely holding onto itself—a relic of somewhere he could no longer fully picture. The weight of it in his arms steadied his breathing. With it in hand, he buried his head into it, trying to ignore…
That unfamiliar pull—warm and buzzing, just under the surface.
Something beat where there was usually only quiet. He pressed himself deeper into everything soft around him, as if that might quiet it.
Whatever it was, it felt like something that didn't belong to him.
The silence lingered long after the words faded—until morning found him again.