Lilith took a trembling step forward, her eyes fixed on her little sister. Francisca was still crying, her soft whimpers like daggers in Lilith's chest.
But the Watchers blocked her path.
Each wore her face, but twisted some with black, bleeding eyes, others with smiles stretched too wide, all of them whispering the same thing:
"You brought us here. You opened the pages."
Lilith clenched her fists, trying to drown out the voices.
Emanuel touched her arm. "We have to be careful. That chasm… it's not just a gap in the floor. It's a tear. Between now and then. Between who you were and who they want you to be."
"They can't have her," Lilith said firmly, stepping closer.
"Then you have to outsmart them," he said. "You know stories. Twist it before it twists you."
Lilith looked at the book floating behind the Watchers. It pulsed like a living thing, each throb echoing through her veins.
Without another word, she ran straight toward the edge.
The Watchers screeched and reached for her, their fingers elongated, clawing through air. Emanuel shouted, but Lilith didn't stop. At the last second, she leapt.
The world slowed.
Her body hung in the air above the darkness.
And just before she fell in, she felt it...
Hands. Small, familiar. Francisca.
Her sister had reached for her. Had moved.
Lilith grabbed hold, and together, they tumbled onto the floor of the library's other side. Safe for now.
Francisca clung to her, shaking, face buried in Lilith's chest. "They told me you left me… that you forgot me."
"Never," Lilith whispered. "I'd burn the whole world before I let them take you."
Behind them, the Watchers hissed, but the chasm widened, separating them. They couldn't cross.
"Why didn't they stop you?" Emanuel asked, catching up.
"Because I didn't fight them with fear," Lilith said, her breath steadying. "I used love. They don't know what to do with that."
Then she looked around the library again and noticed something chilling:
Every book on the shelves was titled The Stranger Who Knew Me.
Every. Single. One.
She pulled a copy down and opened it.
Inside were pages filled with her memories. Her thoughts. Her fears.
But then new lines appeared on the page, forming sentences she hadn't written.
"She turned the page and saw her death."
Lilith dropped the book.
"I think," she said slowly, "we're not just trapped inside a story. I think the book is writing us as we go."
Emanuel looked uneasy. "Then who's the author?"
The room darkened. A soft tapping echoed through the shelves.
And from the far end of the aisle, a shadow emerged tall, cloaked, faceless… holding a quill dripping black ink.
"I think," Lilith whispered, "we're about to meet them."