Chapter Text
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When Irene woke up, the first thing she noticed was the scent. It was odd, how the brain zoomed in on a specific detail, while still being unable to take in the general surroundings in a helpful manner.
She instantly recognised the scent, she knew it very well – books, paper, leather, glue and ink. Wood and fabric. Stone and dust.
It was the scent of home, the scent of the Library. Yet, there was something different about it. She could not put her finger on it, and found it was likely not immediately relevant. Opening her eyes and finding out what it was that was painfully digging into her back was.
She was in a corridor of the Library, there was no doubt about that. The pain in her back came from the edge of a shelf she was leaning against. Why was she on the floor, sunken against a bookshelf?
Irene looked around. This part of the Library didn’t seem familiar, not immediately. She carefully pulled herself up. Judging from the stiff feeling in her limbs she must have been out for more than just a minute.
How did she get here? Somehow she could not remember anything.
The ceiling was not very high, and there were no windows in the corridor. On both sides the walls were lined with bookshelves, and, by the look of it, old ones at that. A few doors led to either side, all closed. It was dead silent.
Irene rubbed at the back of her head. She had a low, throbbing headache. Maybe she had just passed out and knocked her head on the shelf.
She felt stable enough to walk, but wasn’t actually sure which direction she should choose, as she neither knew where she was, nor where she had been going. So she did what a Librarian, or any bibliophile, probably, would do in her situation – she pulled out a book at random from the nearest shelf.
Irene stared down at the cover, dumbstruck. She knew this book.
It was “Kinder- und Hausmärchen der Gebrüder Grimm”.
Irene almost dropped it. It was the same version as the one, the only one she’d always remember for the rest of her life. With shaking fingers she opened the book, carefully flicking through the pages. She did not want to know, but she had to know. It did not even surprise her to read the title, when she came to the 87th story. There it was, “The Story of the Stone from the Tower of Babel”.
Irene stood frozen, unable to make any sense of her situation. There was such a thing as coincidence, but she knew this was not one of those moments. She shot a glance around her.
The corridor, the shelves, the books… Everything seemed perfectly ordinary. Yet there was a sudden prickle in the back of her neck, an uneasy feeling of another presence, of being watched.
The endless halls of the Library could be erie at times, but to Irene, they had always felt like home. Now she could sympathise with depictions of protagonists, who suddenly noticed a slight difference in their decor, or heard a creaking noise upstairs, or felt the touch of a breeze while knowing that all the windows had been closed just a moment ago.
And then she heard it. Just a whisper at first, almost inaudible even in the silent corridor. It was the lowest of whispers, and still it hit her like a blow.
“Ray...”
Irene did not turn around to look for the source of the voice. She simply ran.
Irene did not know what or who was chasing her, but she knew that she had to keep running. Alberich, the name was of course the first to come to her mind. But she was inside the Library, and the one thing she could rely on was that Alberich could not enter the Library.
She felt the itch of the mark on her back, whatever it was that came after her – its presence was undeniable, old and vicious, wild and primal, more dangerous than either fae or dragon she’d ever faced.
“Ray!”
Her name, billowing and thunderous, almost made her lose her step. She was still clutching the book in her hand. Blind panic pushed her onwards, but the corridor would come to an end in a t-junction just a few more paces ahead.
Left or right, left or right…
In the sudden clarity that came after passing through horror and arriving at desperation, she knew it didn’t matter. She didn’t know where she was and all that she wanted was to get away from whoever or whatever was chasing her. As far and as fast as possible.
Without a split second of hesitation, Irene turned the corner to her right and ran ahead through the open doorway into the room that lay beyond.
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“Winters!”
Irene was vaguely aware of being briskly shaken by the shoulders. Her back hurt… and her head… Oh god, her head!
“Winters, for goodness sake! Are you alright?”
She blinked her eyes open, as the shaking didn’t cease, and looked up into Vale’s face above her. His frown showed deep concern, but at least he stopped yelling.
Irene found that she was lying on the floor. A dark wooden floor, and there were shelves and stacks of books close by. She was inside the Library, and, after a moment of disorientation, she recognised the room as one close to the gate to B-395.
She propped herself up with a grunt and rubbed at her temples. What was she doing on the floor? And Vale… right, Vale!
“I think, I’m okay,” she muttered, still glancing around in confused bewilderment, “But what happened? I can’t seem to remember anything.”
Vale sat back on his heels and gave her a measuring glance down his nose.
“I was going to ask you the same. I found you here, unconscious.” His frown deepened. “Where is Strongrock?”
Irene tried hard to think, but there was a buzzing in her head that made it almost impossible to focus.
“I don’t know. He isn’t with you?”
“I expected to find him with you. You asked for us all to meet here.”
Irene paused, as something occurred to her.
“Vale, what are you doing here? How did you get inside the Library?”
“You brought me in yourself.” Vale raised his eyebrows and closely scrutinised her. “Winters, are you sure, you’re alright?”
Irene shrugged, as, in fact, she was not sure. Her head was swimming, and she had the urgent feeling that she forgot something important she had to do, or somewhere she had to be.
Vale stood up and offered her a hand.
“If you can stand, then you should better see this.” There was suddenly a cold undertone to his voice.
Irene was thankful that Vale gave her his arm to hold onto, as she swayed a little upon getting up. What she saw immediately brought her back to her senses though. Close to one of the doors to the adjoining rooms a dark stain marred an otherwise spotless floorboards. It glistened in the overhead light, and she did not have to investigate it closer to recognise it as blood.
Vale always scolded her for jumping to conclusions, but as far as she could see, neither she nor Vale had any injuries that would account for the blood. If Kai wasn’t here, but was supposed to be with her, did that mean… Irene’s throat tightened.
The feeling that she had to do something, that she forgot something important, grew more pressing. If only she could remember…
Vale’s grip on her arm tightened.
“Do you know anything about this? Anything helpful at all?”
Irene could not look away from the stain on the floor. She feverishly tried to pull herself together, to remember, but any time she grasped for a thought, it slipped through her mental fingers. She knew she was blankly staring at the blood, but she couldn’t… she didn’t...
“For the love of god, Winters! Focus, woman!”
Vale firmly gripped her by the shoulders, his fingers dug into her arms painfully. He turned her around to face him.
“Look at me!”
The sharpness in his voice made something click back into place inside Irene’s head. She looked up at Vale. Their eyes locked for a moment. Irene felt a rushing sensation, as everything went very still and clear. The only thing that mattered were Vale’s eyes. And what lingered behind them.
“Look at me, Ray.”
Irene knew that it was never a helpful reaction in any genre of story, and generally prided herself in knowing better. But at this moment, as Vale’s mouth twitched into a fully uncharacteristic smirk, she screamed.
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