The book swallowed her whole.
One moment Lena was standing at the edge of that stitched mouth made of parchment and flesh—then suddenly, she was inside. Falling through a nightmare of ink and screaming paper.
The air stank of burning vellum and something worse—metallic, rotting... like a library that had been left to die. She landed with a hard thud, hands sinking into what felt like damp, soggy parchment.
When she looked up, everything around her was made of words.
---
The Library of the Damned
The sky was a storm of sentences, whirling above her head. The ground beneath her kept shifting, pages fluttering like dead leaves. Towering books leaned into the darknessines split open to reveal faces—human ones—pressed into the paper, mouths twisted in silent screams.
And the noise—
A chorus of whispers, desperate and overlapping:
"Keeper..."
"Sign your name..."
"It doesn't have to hurt..."
Lena stumbled up, dizzy. In a puddle of black ink, she saw her reflection—but it wasn't her. The eyes were empty. The mouth was stitched shut.
The Last Witness.
"Welcome home," it said without moving its lips.
Then the ground shifted beneath her.
---
The First Keeper
The pages at her feet peeled apart like curtains, revealing a figure crouched in the shadows.
A girl.
Barely sixteen. Her skin was pale and see-through, veins blackened like spilled ink. Her mouth was torn and scarred from old stitches. Her eyes—two bottomless voids, wide from centuries of fear.
The first Keeper.
"You're her," Lena whispered.
The girl nodded. A name shimmered in the air above her:
"Anya."
Not the waitress. Not that Anya.
The original. The girl who'd sealed the shadow god in paper back in the 1100s.
Anya reached out with a trembling hand—
And the second Lena touched her, the world burned behind her eyes:
- A monastery in flames.
- Monks chanting as their skin peeled away, revealing writhing words beneath.
- Anya, crying as she dipped her quill into ink, her voice suddenly not hers anymore:
"Who will you betray next?"
Lena ripped her hand back. "No—"
Anya's mouth unstitched itself—and something inhuman spoke through her:
"It took my name. Then my face. Then my story."
Her ink-stained fingers dug into Lena's arm. "Don't let it take yours."
Then the ink rose up—
And the girl was gone.
---
The Hungry Pages
The book shuddered.
Pages tore free from the towers, flapping down like moths. They brushed against Lena—then stuck, digging into her skin like living paper leeches.
Each page had a name:
- Karel Bohdan, 1612 – "I burned my tongue out. It wrote for me anyway."
- Marguerite Duret, 1799 – "It showed me my daughter's death before it happened. I begged to change it."
- Alistair Voss, 1987 – "I thought I could outsmart it. I was wrong."
She screamed, tearing at them, but they burrowed deeper, staining her veins with ink.
The Last Witness laughed—ripping, rustling laughter.
"They all fought. They all lost."
Then a new page slapped against her chest.
This one was blank.
Waiting.
---
Mira's Secret
A hand grabbed her from behind.
Lena spun, ready to strike—
And froze.
It was Mira.
But different. Whole.
Except… her arms were paper. Covered in tiny black words.
"You need to listen," she said fast. "The Witness isn't a prisoner here. It's the warden."
Lena gasped, confused. "What are you talking about?"
Mira gripped tighter. "It serves the book. It feeds it names. And it's been waiting for you—a Keeper strong enough to hold the god forever."
The ground trembled hard beneath them.
Something was coming.
Mira shoved Lena. "Run. Find the white page."
"What white page?"
"The one I hid!"
Then the ink exploded—
And Mira was torn away, dissolving into ash-like letters that scattered to the wind.
---
The Last Offer
The Witness appeared, tall and smiling, threads of stitches unraveling.
"She lied. There's no white page." It stepped closer. "But there is a way out."
It snapped its fingers.
The world ripped open—
And Lena was home.
Her apartment. Warm. Her mom humming in the kitchen. Jenna alive, laughing. Dan flipping through a magazine.
Everything normal. Safe.
The Witness leaned close.
"This could be yours. Just sign your name."
A pen appeared in her hand.
The book lay open on the table. Waiting.
Her fingers shook.
Then a single drop of ink fell from her eye—
And the lie shattered around her.
---
The Truth
She was back inside the book.
The Witness hissed, its body glitching.
"You stupid girl—"
But Lena didn't wait.
She ran.
Through towers of screaming stories. Through storm clouds of names.
And then—
She saw it.
A white page. Perfect. Untouched.
Floating like a ghost through the storm.
Mira's voice, like a whisper:
"Take it!"
Lena lunged—
And the moment her fingers closed around it, the world twisted inside out.
---
The Shadow God's Whisper
Darkness.
And then...
A voice. Not the Witness's.
Older.
Hungrier.
"You could be powerful."
Something rose in the dark—huge, shifting, monstrous. Too many teeth. Changing shape like smoke that wanted to eat.
The shadow god.
"Give me your name," it said. "And I'll give you everything."
Lena opened her mouth to speak—
But the white page in her hand burned.
One word lit up like a brand across her vision:
"LIAR."
The god roared—
And the book spit her out.
---
The Aftermath
Lena slammed into solid ground.
Cold stone. Real air.
She was back in the Rare Texts Room.
Alistair's body was gone.
The book lay closed beside her.
And in her hand—
The white page.
Mira's last gift.
She turned it over.
Three words written there, shaky but clear:
"Burn it alive."
Then the lights cut out—
And something scratched at the door.
---