Lorenzo leaned back in his chair, frustration evident on his face. The library he had visited was a treasure trove of ancient texts, a place where the histories of countless kingdoms were meticulously recorded. Yet, after hours of searching, there was no mention of the kingdom etched onto the hair slide.
How can something this vivid not exist? he thought, running a hand through his hair. The spires, the glowing light—it all felt so familiar, yet completely alien.
The librarian, an older man with a long beard and eyes that seemed to hold centuries of wisdom, approached quietly. He placed a weathered hand on Lorenzo's table, his expression both gentle and enigmatic.
"Young man," he began, his voice like the creak of an ancient door, "not everything you seek can be found in books." He gestured to the towering shelves around them. "Some histories are written not in ink, but in whispers carried by the wind. You cannot find whatever you are searching for…" His gaze seemed to pierce through Lorenzo, making him shiver. "…but you will find it."
Lorenzo blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"
The librarian gave a small, knowing smile. "The answers you seek are already calling to you. All you need is the courage to listen." And with that, he turned and walked away, his figure blending into the shadows of the endless aisles.
Lorenzo stared after him, his words lingering like a riddle. The hair slide rested on the table, its intricate design glinting faintly in the dim light. Was this part of what the old man meant?
As he walked through the park that evening, the cool breeze tugged at his jacket. His eyes scanned the shadows, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. The oak tree stood silent and stoic, its branches swaying gently. She wasn't there.
Her words echoed in his mind: "Only when I'm sad."
"But why would she be sad?" Lorenzo murmured, his voice almost swallowed by the wind. "Her eyes… they hold so many stories. How do I see her again?"
He stared at the tree for a moment longer before turning away, his heart heavy. "Oh God, give me a clue," he whispered as he walked back to his apartment.
The streets were quiet, the soft hum of distant traffic blending with the chirping of crickets. Lorenzo's thoughts raced, circling back to the girl with violet eyes. Who was she? What tied her to the hair slide? And why did he feel this inexplicable connection to her, as if their fates were intertwined?
By the time he arrived, night had fully settled in, blanketing the city in a quiet calm. Lorenzo placed the hair slide on his desk, its delicate design catching the faint glow of his desk lamp. He sighed and went to freshen up, hoping a splash of water might clear his muddled thoughts.
When he returned, his breath caught in his throat.
The hair slide was sparkling, its intricate design glowing as if infused with some magical light. It flickered and danced, spreading rays of shimmering hues across the walls of his apartment. It was as if he was watching a private magic show, one that defied all logic.
His legs refused to move, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. Fear gripped him, but so did curiosity. Slowly, he forced himself to step closer.
The light from the slide intensified, and an image began to form above it—hazy and dreamlike at first, but growing sharper with each passing moment. Lorenzo's eyes widened as he saw what unfolded before him.
A grand kingdom appeared, its spires reaching toward a sky painted in shades of twilight. The scene shifted, showing a queen sitting on a gilded throne, her face buried in her hands as she wept. The sorrow radiating from her was palpable, even through the vision.
Then came the witch—her dark figure cloaked in shadows, her eyes gleaming with malice as she raised her hand. A curse poured forth from her, spreading like a dark cloud across the kingdom.
The vision changed again, this time showing a little girl. She stood at the edge of a shimmering lake, her white hair flowing like a river of moonlight. Her violet eyes held a deep sadness, the same sadness Lorenzo had seen before. The girl looked directly at him—or so it seemed. Her form was blurred, like a reflection on rippling water, but her gaze pierced through him.
Lorenzo gasped. "It's her," he whispered.
The images flickered and repeated, each scene becoming clearer as he watched. He studied them over and over, piecing together what he could.
"The queen," he murmured, staring at her tear-streaked face. "Is that her mother?"
His gaze shifted to the witch. "The curse… Is this why she's trapped between worlds?"
"Why did she leave this behind? Is this her way of asking for help?"
The glow faded, leaving only the faint, intricate patterns etched into the metal. It was as if the vision had exhausted its strength, retreating into silence.
"What are you trying to tell me?" he said aloud, his voice filled with desperation.
The room felt colder now, the weight of the vision pressing down on him. He leaned back, running his hands through his hair. For a long moment, he sat in silence, his heart pounding in the quiet room. Then, almost instinctively, he reached for his camera and snapped a photo of the slide. He needed to capture this moment, even if no one else could see what he had just witnessed.
"This isn't just about a girl," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "This is something bigger, something I've somehow been pulled into."
The weight of the images pressed against him—a puzzle waiting to be solved. The librarian's words echoed in his mind, haunting him. You cannot find whatever you are searching for, but you will find it.
He closed his eyes, the images replaying in his mind—the crying queen, the menacing witch, the girl with violet eyes. He didn't have all the pieces yet, but he knew one thing for certain.
Whatever was happening wasn't just fantasy anymore. It was real, and it was pulling him deeper into a world he didn't understand.