Goth Librarian 소설 & 이야기

I had no idea where to go so I walked into a library filled with dust and books. I greeted the Libyan with a smile and for the first time the library smiled at me, I was astonished. I always knew grumpy Liberians and I came to a conclusion . That’s how they were trained but I was wrong. I got into the library and picked up a huge book with the title giving me ideas. I open the book to a Picture if an ascent family. I looked back at the title. “The underworld..” I murmured quietly trying not to draw attention to myself.

I couldn’t wait to finish the novel and then upload it to Zoodago, the sight where I published my works and had so many loyal readers. As I typed, a sharp voice cut through my concentration. "Humans aren't welcome in this section of the library." I looked up to see a stern-faced librarian glaring down at me. She had on round black glasses and a plastic-looking hairdo pulled back so tightly, I could see the strain around the edges of her face. Her eyes were cold and completely filled with disdain. "Excuse me?" I stammered, taken aback by her hostility. "You heard me," she snapped. "This area is reserved for special students. Not humans."

He says, pushing me through the door and into the store. I lead him to the back room where Mrs. B put a bunch of comfortable couches and armchairs as well as lamps for gentle light. Bookshelves line every wall, stacked to capacity with beautiful leather bound books. There's even a bronze, gliding ladder that she doesn't use anymore, but she calls it her pride and joy.

With a shared nod, they stepped inside, the air shifting to a musty blend of old parchment and incense. The library was a labyrinth of towering shelves, each laden with dusty tomes and peculiar artifacts—a glass orb swirling with mist, a dagger etched with runes, a chalice that hummed faintly. The only sound was the soft rustle of pages turning somewhere deep within, as if the books themselves were alive. Aria’s grip tightened on Rollan, her heart thudding as they ventured further.

Just a handful of desperate students down below, their heads buried in books and notes, the soft hum of fluorescent lights the only sound breaking the silence. But I wasn't here for the quiet or the musty smell of old pages anymore. No, I had been coming to these late shifts for years now, feeding off the sight of them. And it was the young guys hunched over tables, their bodies tense and unaware of my eyes on them. At forty-two, I looked the part of the proper librarian: slim build, neatly trimmed beard, wire-rimmed glasses perched on my nose. But underneath it all, I was a mess of pent-up lust.

Vera followed us, carrying the books she had already read to return to the library. Janus didn’t need a tour. He made himself at home instantly. Vera and I exchanged glances, looking at Janus strolling around as if he owned that place. I rarely came to the library in my previous life. “Do you want another tragic romance?” Izumi, our royal librarian, asked. She stood on the other side of the circular library desk, intricately carved and styled out from the rosewood. I looked at Vera, who blinked at me blankly and innocently.

Finally, I decided that I simply wouldn’t sleep at all. My mind kept wandering back to the forum thread that I found about the book on the Golden Wolf. It was supposedly extremely rare, and possibly didn’t even exist. But I had a feeling that I could find it. There was a private library in the city that was only open to the highest class of werewolves. I had never been there before myself, but it was common knowledge that the librarian lived there, and she had an enormous collection of rare and banned books. It was late, but I didn’t care; I needed to see her now.

This doesn’t sound like the book I needed so I put it back on the shelves and wander the rows of clams looking for something that catches my eye. It turns out it’s not easy looking for something when you don’t know what that something is. The librarian walks in my direction once she is done reading to the children. “I don’t expect you to remember me, but I am Gilda, I would recognize your soul anywhere.” “I’m sorry I don’t remember you.” Why didn’t my soul sense hers if we had met before? “You used to come here often, especially before the war when witches were welcome to come and go as they pleased” her voice cracked.

Dim overhead lights cast long shadows between the rows, and the air carried that comforting, dusty scent of old paper and leather bindings. Lila Harper had worked the late shift at the circulation desk for three semesters. At 29, she was the youngest full-time librarian on staff, with sharp hazel eyes, shoulder-length chestnut hair often twisted into a loose bun, and a body that her modest cardigans and knee-length skirts couldn’t quite hide. She knew every quiet corner of the building, including which sections offered the most privacy after 9 p.m.

He positions himself near the door – close enough to hear trouble, far enough to give privacy. "The girl," Ms. Winters says without preamble. "The one you brought from Blackthorn. She was in the library this morning." "I know." The image of Sage with that ancient book, violet eyes wide with wonder, flashes through my mind. "Her eyes." The librarian's voice drops lower. "Touched by the moon herself. Just like the old stories of the blessed ones." Phantom surges forward, suddenly alert, protective. "What do you mean?"