•Elia
We're both standing in front of the entrance to the library. I always paid attention to where my dad keeps the key, so getting in wasn't an issue. Maybe cause deep down I always wondered what was in this room. And now , as I stand directly in front of it, I feel some kind of magnetic pull towards it. I've never gotten so close to it.
"Having second thoughts?" Lita asks without tearing her gaze away from the door.
"It's too late for that now" I also don't tear my gaze away.
I'm getting drawn to this place for some reason and I wanna know why. Without wasting any more time, I unlock the doors and we walk inside.
We both gasp as we take in our surroundings.
It looks like something from a fantasy novel. This place is huge, really huge. There's about 3 floors with unique bookshelves everywhere, some shelves being shaped like trees, spiral staircases leading up or down each floor, the ceilings adorned by beautiful chandeliers, and each floor having a few fancy wooden tables with a few books stacked on them. But what catches my attention are the paintings adorning the wall. I move towards them to get a closer look.
As I scan the paintings, my fingers tremble, tracing the elegant script of the name: Ella Kiyoni. A jolt of recognition stops me in my tracks. Mom. Her name before she became Ella Richwood. It's not just one painting, but all of them—each canvas whispers her name. My breath catches.
I dart to one of the polished wooden tables and pick up a book at random. There it is again, her name etched in bold letters on the cover. My mom wrote this. And that one. And the one after. The realization hits me like a tidal wave—this isn't my dad's library. It's my mom's.
This place, this vast world of stories and art, belonged to her. And he kept it from me.
The thought sinks into my chest, cold and heavy. Why? Why would my dad hide something so precious from me? My fingers curl tightly around the book, my knuckles white with frustration. This isn't just a library. It's a doorway into my mother's heart and soul. A part of her I never knew, a part I was denied.
The ache rises, sharp and unrelenting, clawing its way into my throat. It's not anger—not entirely. It's hurt, raw and unfamiliar, gnawing at the edges of my heart. How could he do this? What else has he hidden from me?
"Are you okay? You look a bit shaken up. We can leave if you don't feel comfortable here" Lita walks up to me from where she was earlier inspecting some romance novels she had found.
"No, I'm just.. it's just… theses are all memories of my mom" I swallow the lump in my throat.
"Your mom?" Lita's face changes into a shocked expression mixed with concern. "And it was kept from you" she says in a low tone.
"Yes, it was. And-" I pause when a book on another wooden table catches my eyes.
There were stacks of books beside it but this one was separated from the others and I glance at something sticking out of it that could be a bookmark.
Lita follows my line of sight and sees the book as well. She might have come to the same assumption that I have, and that was that this book might be the current book my dad was reading. If what he was doing here was trying to read all mom's books.
We both glance at each other before walking towards the table.
When I pick up the book and open it to see it's contents, my eyes widen in shock. No…way!