Outside the window, around eight in the evening. But... the sun still hadn't left, as if it pretended it was going to leave, but at the last moment decided to stay.
Impolite sun.
Doesn't it know that at eight in the evening it's supposed to disappear beyond the horizon?
The concept of time didn't exist here. But from the sun's trajectory you could guess what time of day it was. But guessing how much time remained didn't work. As for us... we were in the library. Around ten thousand books and not a single one that would immediately say: "here it is, the one you need." Everything as usual.
Among them were forbidden ones. Books that could grant you unimaginable power. And not necessarily through knowledge, sometimes simply through the fact that you opened them. Many were sealed. Forbidden. Not subject to reading.
Not at all.
Not now. Not later. Not ever.
But we needed just one. The one that would tell what those four bloody lines meant. Yes, yes, the ones that adorned the wall. I doubt they were written by someone with an art education.
The search began. We divided into groups, each had their own shelf, their own ladder, their own desperate enthusiasm. Fortunately, there really were ladders here. The shelves towered like towers, as if they stored the very salvation of the world or its end.
Some grimoires immediately betrayed their abnormality. An aura emanated from them, a real one, without any metaphors. It would be safer not to deal with them even within a three-meter radius. There was a feeling they would explode you at the slightest touch.
Well... it's nice to know the library cares about its readers.
Most of the books contained... something like diaries. The knowledge of one person, the master of this house. As if at some point in his life he decided: "Let the whole world know how I thought."
Perhaps he really was strong. Strong enough to evoke respect or fear. Or envy.
Was he a god? Or simply a man? No one will give a precise answer to this question. Though it doesn't matter, because it wasn't about him.
But here's what's important: this is where it all began. The games. The witch. Us. The love he believed in. The fear that came after it.
He feared separation. And, using everything he knew, he sealed the witch. Her body. Her soul. Everything that ever lived in her. Forever, on this island.
Fear gave birth to pain. Pain became suffering, and now it's a closed circle.
Painful — frightening. Frightening — painful. Welcome to human life. Perhaps this is its main law.
Some think: if there were less suffering in the world, it would be better. But isn't it man himself who creates fear? Fear of loss. Fear of betrayal. Fear of powerlessness. Precisely him.
We ourselves take the first step toward pain. We open a door that shouldn't have even existed. And afterward we live as if we don't know who built it.
We create these monsters, these feelings. These sufferings, they live inside us, but we act as if it's someone else's fault.
So it was with him. He didn't hold out, his mind turned out to be weak. And as a result he didn't save the one he loved, but distorted her forever.
And now she, the one who was once beloved, is now the mistress of the island. The creator of games. Once in an eternity she arranges all this anew. Again and again, without warning.
Meanwhile... the sun finally set.
Night came, quiet, unusually so. Even frightening. The rustling of leaves. The sounds of the forest. The calm ocean. Too calm, before there was always rain.
Overcast sky. Heavy drops. Damp walls.
Here rains aren't an anomaly. And yet today it's dry, this is alarming. Because sometimes calm is a harbinger of a storm.
Calm is a mask. And under the mask... who knows what. On the floor already several hundred books, all this will have to be gathered later. Arranged again. No magic, only manual labor.
Two hours of searching. Nothing. Empty, this could go on forever. And then it hit me: the second day. Like back then, when I went out to drink water, and returned to find only blood. In the first game the witch accused Enua. Said he was the killer, and now he's in his room.
And then I thought: could it be that on the second day he... killed everyone in the library?
I ran out without warning. The others didn't even have time to ask a question.
Morgana immediately after me, Cheryl too. Reacted instantly.
If I want to prove his innocence... if I really want to... then I must start with the main thing.
First convince myself, personally. Until now I simply believed. Blindly, without proof. Because he didn't seem bad, and now?
Can I trust him?
I thought, yes. I wanted to believe this, but it's not enough. The first game clearly showed: if you want to believe, first make sure. Then decide.