I was in the library the next morning. The small one, not the big one. Actually, it was more like a study than a true library, but there were plenty of books to read in here.

Though, I thought glumly, most of these were non-fiction. Not really my cup of tea. There were always hidden gems in that kind of writing, but sometimes it just felt monotonous. Of course, I knew writing non-fiction was important, but it only made reality come crashing down harder, because…

It never left reality behind.

Yeah, some things in history were so crazy they were unreal, while others just kind of spouted facts in a way I couldn’t really picture anything in my head.

I liked picturing things in my head.

As I turned to look at the other bookcase, I noticed something. I walked over there, tilting my head to peek in the gap between the edge of the bookcase and a small part of the wall that jutted out for the fireplace.

It looked like a ribbon.

I knelt down and began to reach for it, bracing with my other hand against the wood of the bookcase, only to be surprised by the roughness under my fingertip. My hand had been just a few inches from it, but I pulled back to stare at where my hand had touched.

What the…

I brushed my fingers over the symbol carved there.

Had this always been here?

Looking up and down the edge of the wood, I noticed more, and only on this side. Someone had carved these in. I glanced back at the ribbon stuck behind the bookcase, and I had this wild thought.

This was like the part where someone finds something magical or a secret door. A map – treasure map, maybe?

Feeling almost compelled to, I reached back there once more, tugging lightly on the ribbon with a sort of fascination, only to stare when it finally came free.

I really had to tug…

And it wasn’t just a ribbon.

There was a whole book attached to it. No. Not a book. I turned the small thing over in my hands. There wasn’t a title, and the ribbon was like a bookmark…

It was a journal.

I ran my fingers over the symbol on the front, written on. Characters… It was a Chinese Character, right? A name maybe? Or just a word?

I glanced back at the markings carved into the bookcase. Had the person who left this here, left this journal as well? Was it some kind of a code?

My eyes landed back on the journal.

Was it all written in Chinese?

I tentatively opened it to the first page.

Woah.

In a scrawling but beautiful script, the words flowed across the page.

They were in English.

I could read this.

I… I wanted to, but part of me wondered if it was a sort of invasion of privacy. I didn’t want anyone reading my journal, why the heck would I think it okay to read someone else’s? It’s embarrassing.

I bit my lip in frustration.

But, the dust collected on this… the age of it…

The person who wrote this – they were likely dead. And if they weren’t, then maybe… maybe I should read some of it to figure out who it belongs to. I could return it.

Temptation got the best of me as I curled up on the floor next to the bookcase, leaning against the edge of the fireplace, and I began to read.

I went to the meeting with the clans of the Eastern Territories. Originally, I wasn’t meant to go… but as an important member of the witches, I was called to come last minute. And I wouldn’t have wished for it any other way.

Otherwise, I wouldn’t have met him.

And he – he is already so precious to my soul, the every part of my being. I’d never felt more safe. I’d never felt like this before. I will never feel like this again.

Taking a minor step back mentally, I stared down at the page with surprise.

Jeez, it was like a romance novel. Did this actually happen? Or was someone just writing a story in a journal to pass the time? Did they not have other papers? Maybe they were a writer… and this was complete fiction.

Eh.

I kind of liked it in this format, real or not.

Part of me was saying to look for a date on the cover, or to figure out what the characters on the front meant, but I turned to the next page, only to find more words that drew me in, like food for a starving animal.

And boy, was I starving.

In talking with him, I learned so much, my heart fluttering in my chest. There was this sort of instinctual feeling – this wanting to be near each other.

But even if there wasn’t, even if it had just been us talking and spending time together while the highest members of our clans and people discussed treaties and trade, I know I would’ve fallen for him all the same.

I know it in my heart.

Because there was nobody out there like Ryuu.

Nobody.

Ryuu…

So, she’d fallen for someone named Ryuu.

That was an unusual name, but not the strangest I’d read in books. Maybe it was a more common name in a different culture, or his family liked unique names.

And it was kind of an assumption on my part, saying that she was a girl. The writer could’ve been either, but, for some reason, I just felt it. Or I was just imagining myself in their shoes…

Maybe that was it.

The pages seemed to turn all on their own as I sat there reading, pouring over these words that felt so familiar to my heart.

Oh, how I want to know what is in his heart. Did he feel this too? Did he long for me on those quiet nights with a sense of security in each other and long scorching days where he would be like a drink of water for me? Ugh. I just want to know, but how can we know? How can we put this into words? The meeting is over. We’re headed back… and I’ll never know what could’ve been…

Eh?!

Was this going to end up being sad? Was she never going to know? Were they never going to see each other again?

Because that was just plain horrible.

That was…

I froze.

Sighing, I closed my eyes.

I was getting a tad bit too invested. I was placing me in her shoes… and someone else in Ryuu’s. Wasn’t I?

I didn’t even need to hear the answer to know what I was doing.

Ryuu is not him, I told myself sullenly, and I am not her. I didn’t write this.

I’ve gone and done it. I left some personal belongings with a cousin in my trusty old box… and then? I just hopped out a window and ran off. To go see him, like an idiot. I’m writing this under a tree, and it’s raining out here. But still, I want to see–

Someone’s over there. Someone.

Wait.

Part of me screamed that this really wasn’t fiction at all. This was real. But who’d have written this? When?

Who on earth would’ve put it behind the bookcase, like they were hiding it to keep it safe from prying eyes?

From who were they hiding it?

Why?

I drifted back toward my room, my eyes glued to the words as I walked slowly. It was a special skill of mine, ‘reading while walking’.

It came in handy in times like this.

I really wanted to know who it was she’d seen there. Had it been him? Or her family chasing her? Was it another person entirely?

I had to know.