Welcome to the World you Abandoned

For the first few seconds after an abrupt stop, I can barely breathe. The journey itself doesn't take long - a few seconds at most - but it feels like my whole body is being dragged through a crazy straw: twisted, flattened, and spit out at the end. I cough a few times, trying to get my breathing under control, before opening my eyes.

I look around - the smell of mold, rotten wood, and stale paper fills my lungs as I find myself standing in an abandoned barn. I see the old tack for a horse hanging in a corner, somehow better preserved from the passage of time than the barn around it. I see the planks that fell from the roof, letting the sunlight in. And I see….

"Is that ink?" I ask out loud to myself, stepping closer to the wall where a few more wooden planks have collapsed. And, true enough, there it is - soft drips coming from all around, as if the wood itself is crying thick, black ink. I touch it, slowly, and let it stain my fingers. It feels... strange. Like... something I shouldn't be touching. I wipe off my finger using the wood in front of me, and the whole barn groans and creeks, as if just my touch is enough to make it fall apart at any moment.

"Okay, okay, sheesh! I'm sorry I touched you, old man. I'll leave," I say, taking a few steps back before going to the door. The building groans loudly again as I open the door, so I quicken my step as I leave.

Around me, the smell of stale paper gets heavier, clinging to the air like smoke. I look around and see a quirky old village, something straight out of the vintage movies I used to watch with dad when I was a kid. The wooden houses, the market stalls, the open central square. All in all, it could very well be a quaint little village... if not for the half hanging, crooked signs, the cracked, broken windows, the ink drops oozing from some buildings, and the the overwhelming odor of musty parchment.

As I walk into town, a few people glance at me, but their stares aren't out of confusion - they know who I am. Instead, I catch them sneaking a glimpse of me and then looking away nervously, like they are expecting me to snap at any second.

Like they are waiting for me to become something else.

I fail to hold back a slight frown, but I don't let them deter me. I can't stay frozen in place for too long, and I need to find a safe place. Somewhere I can gather my thoughts, and figure out if what I am seeing is real or not. It doesn't take long for me to come across a tavern, though - a few meters forward, right across the cobble street. However...

"The Glittering Gargoyle?" I ask myself, recognizing the name stained on the wood sign, along with the painfully bright painted cupcake. I remember that day in particular - I was writing during class, as always, and asked a friend to proofread this scene for me. The original name was supposed to be 'The Glittering Cupcake,' but my best friend at the time, Yusuke, said it didn't sound like a tavern at all. We argued for a few minutes, before landing on 'The Glittering Gargoyle.' He even convinced me to name the keeper after him. I got so infuriated that day that I completely forgot to take the cupcake off of the sign off my draft.

I hesitate before entering, not sure if I want to be reminded of Yusuke. He ended up becoming my first crush, and after a resounding rejection on his part, we lost touch. A painful memory I did not want to revisit. But the bright cupcake on the sign was a smoking gun. I look back at the central square, with its meager fountain, and march towards it, searching for something that (if I were where I thought I was) was surely going to be there.

And I was right. Right beside the fountain was the old wooden notice board, with big bold golden letters embedded into it:

Lysteria.

Aya, at 15, had written it in a glittery gel pen. Aya, from now, could barely look at it without being hit by a barrage of emotions.

"Well... damn. This really isn’t a dream, is it? Or if it is, it's one hell of a specific one," I mutter, my fingers tracing the wood. "And that encounter... I am really here. Inside my own creation."

An almost loose piece of paper nailed to the board catches my eye, and I read it. It describes an event, something about a live reading. And there, in bold black letters, was my name.

"Place: Library. Overseer: Aya, the librarian. The Lysteria Collective Memory Preservation Association is doing a charity event to help those affected by the fire of 86 of Solstice. The gala will have a public reading of old stories and tales surrounding our village, and the showing of the hero Dalylah's training sword and regimen, as stated by the Temporal Knights. All villagers are encouraged to participate. Date: First of Yeallah, 87 of Solstice. Entry fee: 1 gold," I read aloud, my voice getting lower and lower until it becomes a whisper. "Yep. Yep, okay. Cool, cool, cool. I did not write that. Dalylah didn't even get a notice about this event when I was writing. And I definitely remember writing things past the 88 of Solstice. Ugh, why did I have to write such a complicated calendar? First of Yeallah would be like... January, February, March?" I count on my fingers, trying to remember it, before running my hands through my hair in frustration.

I then feel a touch on my shoulder and jump, startled. A harmless-looking middle-aged woman with a dress and an apron holding a basket full of fresh produce also startles when I do, but she soon regains her composure.

"Aya, dear? Is everything ok?"

"Yes!" I manage to say, straightening up. "Peach perfect! Just fine!"

She gives me the eye, that look that only mothers can do, and puts her hand back on my shoulder more firmly this time.

"Are you sure? You don't look too well... you are indeed rather pale. And staring at that old paper, nonetheless…."

I give her an awkward smile, trying as I might to figure out who she is and how she knows me. Drawing a blank, I clumsily spit out the first excuse that pops into my head.

"Yeah, well... you see, last night I found a wine bottle I had put away for a special occasion, and it was about to go bad, so I decided to drink it and... well, one thing led to another, and you know what wine does to me. Woke up in the old barn, but can't for the life of me remember anything that happened after my second glass. I can barely remember the date as it is." I chuckle, and scratch the back of my head. "I was hoping to find a clue on the notice board, but... well, I have a pretty bad headache, and can't read much…."

"Oh dear," the sweet lady says. "You can't be doing that too much, not at your age, Aya! I know you want to hold on to the last bits of your youth…." I am about to answer that when she shushes me. "Come, come. I'll take you back to the library, dear. Maybe we'll stop by my place first and I can make you the same hangover cure I used to make for my Elias when we were young. We are neighbors, after all."

Elias... that name rings sharp. The man who died in the fire - saving Dalylah, my story’s heroine. A story I wrote years ago, thinking Elias’s death would be a touching sacrifice. And now here is his widow: the woman who loved him. Real. Kind. And carrying fresh carrots in a basket.

"Ms. Honeyswitch, you really don't need to..." I start, trying to disentangle myself from her grip.

"Nonsense, dear! You work too hard, and when you finally cut loose, you also play too hard. Honestly…. And didn't I tell you to call me Martha already, dear? Now come, come. I've got fresh veggies -- I'll whip up a soup for you in no time. Besides..." She lowers her voice. "It doesn't do well to stay outside too much these past few days."

I nod and follow her, too confused to say otherwise.

The walk to Ms. Honeyswitch's is fairly quick. Lysteria was never meant to be a big place to start with, and it never really recovered from the fire that kickstarted Dalylah's journey. There are still marks from the fire, burned buildings that stood just on the periphery of our vision - monuments to the careless cruelty of a teenage author playing god.

Maybe they would consider my old self a God.

I cringe at the thought.

At her home, the air gets easier to breathe. The place carries a vanilla undertone that reminds me of baked cookies and just... comfort. Ms. Honeyswitch gives me a cup of coffee to sip while she cooks, and I let the kind woman fill the air with her gossip and small talk. It soothes me somewhat, the sounds of someone who doesn't expect anything of me and is just... there. Her idle chatter gives me time and space to start processing everything.

However, the processing takes all my braincells, because after I blink, I find myself at the door of a small library, tucked away in the corner of the street. The building, however, towers over the houses around it, its crooked second story looming over us with its black wood. I blink again, and Ms. Honeyswitch's hand on my shoulder tightens as she stands by my side.

"Are you sure you are ok, dear? Maybe I shouldn't leave you alone…."

"Ms. Honey - Martha," I correct myself. "I am fine, I promise. Just... tired, I guess."

She clicks her tongue, not happy. "I keep telling you, you should take more breaks instead of going all in every time. Well, if you need anything, Aya, I'm just next door, alright?"

I smile softly at her, and nod. "Will do. Thank you for your kindness today."

She smiles and shakes her hand. "Nonsense, my dear. Now go rest. And drink plenty of water!"

I chuckle and enter the library, not sure what to expect. The smell of ink hits me first like a freight train, leaving me dizzy and my eyes watery. Then, when the undertone of musky old books settles around me, I blink, looking around. There are dozens of bookshelves, some full, some half empty. Books, tons of them, written in all kinds of languages, about all kinds of subjects. A bookworm's paradise.

I gingerly walk to the front desk and see my name written on a plaque. Despite how quiet the library is, the place does not seem abandoned. The orderly desk indicates that someone was here, keeping it clean and tidy. Keeping up with all the chores.

There is a diary on the desk, and I open it. There, written in my own handwriting, are detailed registers of what happened in the library at what time, stretching back years. By its account, today was the 9th of Farlum, the equivalent of April. Spring was just starting.

I flip through the pages, skipping past the empty ones, till I reach the end. There, in a handwriting I don't recognize, is a sentence that takes my breath away.

"Aya - Librarian. Small side character. Choken progress started. Autonomy under observation."

I stare at it for a couple of seconds, trying to understand. Whatever happened to the original Aya of this world, me being transported here stopped that. But that last sentence....

"Who the hell wants to spy on a small side character...?" I blink, stunned. "And - wait. Why am I a side character? Wasn't I supposed to be the main one? Seriously?"

I let out a dry laugh.

"Even in another world, I can't get it right. I really am Failure's chosen."