The book was always a little rough to the touch from its cloth exterior as I turned it over in my hands. It had changed my life, that book; its contents had started me off on a road I would never be able to come back along. Yet it looked completely innocuous, plain even, as if it could be of no interest to anyone.
The spine held the answer, of course, showed the subject that I had not, at first, held as the ultimate key to my dreams and goals. It had merely interested me at first, caused me to return to that library again and again to learn more.
I avoid looking at the title now, though, turning the book so as to keep it away from my sight. What is left of the me that first picked up the book is ashamed of where it took me.
But then, as I have to keep reminding myself, I had already taken a dark turn and that was why I had gone to Oxford. I made sure I got into that university so as to seek out the wizarding library I knew was hidden there, and to seek ways of undoing that mistake.
Once I had gained entrance I devoured all the knowledge the librarians would give me, learning everything about this strange world that the legacy of my father and grandfather had led me into.
I had this feeling while studying there, though, that the library’s guardians and keepers, the Book Worms, knew exactly who I was and what I would become. There was something in the way they guided my reading and kept me away from certain parts of the decimal scheme.
And yet, if this really was the case, it was also a little half hearted, like they knew they couldn’t mess with fate; that they could try and stop what would happen but knew, deep down, that it would happen anyway. But then perhaps I am just putting that spin on things as I look back, trying to find someone else to blame.
However the Book Worms approached me, I found it anyway. One afternoon, having grown tired of The Complete History of Merlin, I waited for the Book Worms to disappear from view and went wandering through the stacks freely. This wasn’t the first time I had done so, by any means, but it was the first time that I found the sections on Him and the Underearth, subjects I knew about and didn’t care much for at the time, thinking that they were but mere myths- as I say, they were not why I was there, only later they would come to obsess me.
Now, in my dying moments, my mind running backwards, running my hands over the clothbound book, I can see that its contents came to change me, even more so than the Pixie event; and that it destroyed me, piece by piece, and brought me here.
The spine held the answer, of course, showed the subject that I had not, at first, held as the ultimate key to my dreams and goals. It had merely interested me at first, caused me to return to that library again and again to learn more.
I avoid looking at the title now, though, turning the book so as to keep it away from my sight. What is left of the me that first picked up the book is ashamed of where it took me.
But then, as I have to keep reminding myself, I had already taken a dark turn and that was why I had gone to Oxford. I made sure I got into that university so as to seek out the wizarding library I knew was hidden there, and to seek ways of undoing that mistake.
Once I had gained entrance I devoured all the knowledge the librarians would give me, learning everything about this strange world that the legacy of my father and grandfather had led me into.
I had this feeling while studying there, though, that the library’s guardians and keepers, the Book Worms, knew exactly who I was and what I would become. There was something in the way they guided my reading and kept me away from certain parts of the decimal scheme.
And yet, if this really was the case, it was also a little half hearted, like they knew they couldn’t mess with fate; that they could try and stop what would happen but knew, deep down, that it would happen anyway. But then perhaps I am just putting that spin on things as I look back, trying to find someone else to blame.
However the Book Worms approached me, I found it anyway. One afternoon, having grown tired of The Complete History of Merlin, I waited for the Book Worms to disappear from view and went wandering through the stacks freely. This wasn’t the first time I had done so, by any means, but it was the first time that I found the sections on Him and the Underearth, subjects I knew about and didn’t care much for at the time, thinking that they were but mere myths- as I say, they were not why I was there, only later they would come to obsess me.
Now, in my dying moments, my mind running backwards, running my hands over the clothbound book, I can see that its contents came to change me, even more so than the Pixie event; and that it destroyed me, piece by piece, and brought me here.
Written for the Light and Shade Challenge: the prompt was "Instead of a quotation I would like you to imagine running your hands over fabric. It could be silk, or soft cotton, or rough sacking, whatever sparks to mind with the idea of running your hands over fabric - and have fun!"
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