Venecia
It wasn't intentional. I hadn't gone to the library that evening seeking out answers; I'd gone looking for solitude. My dreams—visions, whatever they were—had grown stronger. And Romeo... Romeo was everywhere. Not just physically, but in my thoughts, in my very skin.
I didn't know how much more I could take.
The library's dim lighting and familiar smell of aged paper offered comfort, even if it was fleeting. I roamed the aisles aimlessly, running my fingers across the spines of books, listening to the faint whispers of students chatting in the background.
Then something caught my attention. A faint shimmer from the corner of my eye.
I turned and saw an ornate leather-bound book, its gold detailing reflecting the light just enough to draw me in. It wasn't on a shelf but rather on the ground, half-buried under a stack of other books.
I hesitated. This library wasn't known for antique books like this—it felt out of place, almost too deliberate. But curiosity got the better of me.
When I lifted it, a strange sense of warmth traveled up my arms, making my wrist burn faintly. My first thought was to put it back, but I didn't. Instead, I carried it to the nearest table and sat down.
The cover bore no title, just an intricate crest engraved into the leather: a sun and moon entwined, surrounded by a wreath of thorns. I traced it absentmindedly before opening it.
The writing was beautiful, its swirling calligraphy both ancient and oddly familiar.
"To those who follow in our steps, we leave behind the truths we could not see..."
The words pulled me in as I flipped through the pages, each one filled with strange sketches and fragmented accounts of events—fights, alliances, betrayals, love. A golden thread appeared on several pages, connecting figures drawn in fine detail.
Then I saw them.
Two figures stood at the edge of a crumbling battlefield. One held a sword, the other a dagger. The man's face was shadowed, but the woman...
Her hair was unmistakable—long, silver, cascading like water.
My breath caught. It was her.
But the more I looked, the more unease crept in. It wasn't just the face that was familiar—it was me.
"No..." I whispered, barely recognizing my own voice.
A loose page fell from the journal, fluttering onto the table. It bore a single passage:
"The threads of fate bind the hearts of the chosen, but their curse is eternal. Love may bloom, but it cannot thrive amidst betrayal's shadow."
"Venecia?"
The voice jolted me, and I slammed the book shut, my heart leaping out of my chest. When I turned, Romeo stood a few feet away, his expression unreadable.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, breathless.
"I could ask you the same thing," he replied, his eyes narrowing as they flicked to the book. "What's that?"
"Nothing," I said, a little too quickly, but I knew it was useless. He stepped closer, the tension between us thick enough to choke on.
"That's not nothing," he said. "Let me see."
I hesitated, clutching the book tightly. For a moment, I considered walking away, refusing to let him into this piece of the mystery. But then I remembered the name from the dreams—Evanna, Aurelia and Mira.
If there was any chance this book could explain what was happening to us, I couldn't keep it to myself. Reluctantly, I slid the book across the table.
Romeo didn't sit; he hovered over it, flipping the pages with an intensity that made me nervous. What was she hiding? What did this book tell her that she didn't want me to see?
When he stopped on the drawing of the two figures, his jaw clenched.
"That's you," he said flatly.
"And you," I added.
We stared at each other, the weight of the revelation hanging in the air. It wasn't a dream or a coincidence. This book, these stories—it was all real.
"What does it mean?" he asked, breaking the silence.
I didn't have an answer. Instead, I picked up the loose page and handed it to him. He read it, his brows furrowing deeper with each word.
"Love may bloom, but it cannot thrive amidst betrayal's shadow," he murmured. He looked at me, his expression hard to read. "What does that sound like to you?"
"Like we're screwed," I said bitterly, trying to mask the fear creeping in.
He let out a short, humorless laugh, but it quickly faded. "So... we're tied together? Across lifetimes? How is that even possible?"
I shook my head. "I don't know. But that's what the book is saying."
We sat in silence, both too overwhelmed to speak. I tried to focus on the other pieces of information in the journal, but my mind kept circling back to the look in Romeo's eyes during the dreams. Anger. Betrayal.
Did it mean he didn't trust me? Or worse, that I couldn't trust myself?
"I don't like this," he muttered finally, closing the book with more force than necessary. "I don't like someone else deciding who I'm supposed to be, who I'm supposed to care about."
"I didn't ask for this either," I snapped, feeling my frustration rise. "Do you think I want to be stuck in some... cursed story with you of all people?"
That shut him up.
But instead of getting angry, he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "You're right," he admitted. "I just... this is too much."
I couldn't argue with that. I couldn't argue with that. It was strange that Miss Isolde had given us both books. Too strange. Was she trying to help, or was she playing some kind of game?
Finally, I stood, slipping the journal back into my bag. "We should figure out more about this," I said, trying to sound confident. "Whatever it is, there has to be a way to... stop it."
Romeo nodded, his expression unreadable again. "Yeah," he said. "If there's a way out, we'll find it."
But as I walked out of the library, I couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't entirely convinced.
And neither was I.
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