“The magic of first love is our ignorance that it can ever end”1
Benjamin Disraeli2
“Come on, sleepy head, it is nearly noon!” She felt a pair of hands shaking her awake. “You said you'd get that book for Dorian. The library will be closed in a few hours. Come on!”3
She groaned as the curtains were suddenly opened, letting the afternoon sunlight flood into her bedroom. “Piss off,” she muttered, “I've got bags of time...” She rolled over, and tried to get back to sleep. Suddenly, it became cold. “Give me my fucking duvet back!”4
“Ha! That got you awake. Now get showered and dressed. You did promise Anna to get that book...” Footsteps drifted out of the room, as her mother went back into the study. After one last groan, she threw herself out of bed, and got herself ready for the snow covered world.5
“Who wrote it?” she repeatedly muttered to herself. She had lent her own copy to her best friend, as reading material for her one year tour of America. There was no way of contacting her, and the Internet was down, thus she had to go to the library.6
She walked into the library after getting ready, and immediately felt different. One of the librarians was sitting at the desk, pen tapping on his notepad, lost in his own thoughts. He was everything she wanted. His soft brown eyes matched his soft brown hair perfectly. He looked up at her, but she quickly looked away.7
She walked up to him, and asked quietly the question on her mind. “Hi, I'm looking for The Castle of Otranto, but I can't for the life of me remember who wrote it.”8
His voice dripped with lust, or so she thought. “Horace Walpole. It has to be one of my favourite books of all time.”9
“Really?! Mine too! My sister wants to read more, so I thought that would be a good starting point.”10
On and on they talked, until, out of his pocket, fell the poem he wrote earlier. She picked it up, read it, and barely whispered “It is beautiful... You are so talented.”11
“Thanks. I'm Adam by the way.”12
“Evelin. Pleased to meet you.”13
The next thing she could remember was writing her mobile phone number on his hand, and walking out with a copy of the book in her bag. While waiting for the bus home, Darkness' Muse entered her mind.14
Love is the killer of all15
Love doth twist the lies16
And cover the victim's eyes with wool17
Thick enough to cloud thine judgment18
Love is the killer of all19
Its victims doth die20
Broken hearts and shattered dreams21
Kiss the poison of Love22
Evelin read over what she wrote, and made no alterations. She promised herself she would type it onto her poetry site the moment she arrived home, if the Internet was working. If not, she would have to amuse herself some other way.
Author notes
chapter 3
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