Featured by @fright for AAPIHM.
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A librarian gets sucked into a web of horror as she investigates a century-old disappearance in the new town she has moved into.
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Yvaine Agan had always led a quiet life and had expected to do the same when sh...
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Paisley groaned in frustration as her eyes drifted to the bottle of ink on the other end of the table.
Her hair tied into a thick ponytail hung from one end of her shoulder while her fingers worked relentlessly. She wrote, scratched and began again, simultaneously keeping an ear out for any sound that might be emitted.
There was only a little ink left at the bottom. With all the corrections she kept on making she realised the ink would finish up soon before she could pen everything down. And she could not let that happen.
Paisley needed to write it down. All that she knows, all that she is about to do needs to be written down. The greatest mistake that Felicity had committed was that she had not recorded what she had known. Wiping away a bead of sweat, Paisley resumed writing.
The sole lamp that lit the room grew dimmer with each minute while the chilly guff that entered through the windows only grew colder. It cast dark oblong shadows upon the walls, floors and her face. It illuminated the softly shimmering flagon at the other end of the room, suspended by metal chains on top of a small burner.
The bottle of ink reflected the light, glinting in the price while the pristine white of the pages of the diary upon which wrote Paisley glowed yet no sign of writing was present on it; it was empty.
To the ones ignorant of the truth, the diary would be nothing but empty, an unused tome. But those who understood would know how to read it, for if one looked closely at the bottle of ink one would know that it was no mere ink. Instead of being black or blue the shade of the ink was rosy, the effect of the herb juices in the milk.
At last, Paisley set down the quill upon the table, a look of satisfaction on her face. A part of her work was done, she thought, taking a relieved breath. The other part of her task walked their way to her home if the tip had worked well. But the last and the most important part?
Her eyes darted towards the flagon from whose mouth blew out steam. A feeling as heavy as the chains that held the flagon settled down upon her heart. She had chosen her way, her destiny and the bane that brewed in the flagon was its testimony.
Paisley's palms sweated and a sickly pallor took over her face. There was still time, still time to back away from this task. But was backing away indeed an option? What about Felicity who had died for the same cause? And Wilhelmina? Didn't she too get killed because of the man whom Felicity desired to murder?
"That despicable bastard!" Paisley turned away her face, spitting bitterly upon the floor. The very thought of that man sent shivers of absolute disgust down her spine. Never in all her life had she hated someone, something so much.
A soft tinkling of the knocker downstairs floated in the air, making her rise up from her seat. Her heart thudded most vehemently in her chest. They were here. And so it was time to make the final decision. If she didn't go down they would go away. However, if she answered the door it would mean welcoming a fate inescapable.
