Pushing the heavy wooden door open, my first step into the library is like taking a step back in time. Multiple floors of iron scaffolding with ornate scrollwork and spiral staircases are the structure of this vision. Antique desks and large armchairs take up the majority of the room. The musty scent of the old leather-bound, gilded books completes the atmosphere.
I relax a moment, estimating the number of hours students must have spent here pouring over books since the creation of this library. Noticing the color of sky through the windows, I realize that it is almost the hour of dusk and looking around to my surprise there aren’t any students here. So overwhelmed with my first sight of this majestic retreat that I missed that detail.
One wall is covered from top to bottom in large paned glass windows. Outside I can barely discern a sloping hill and trees swaying gently in the breeze as the day welcomes the night. Stepping closer I realize I’m not alone as I spy the very tip of a shoe peaking from behind a giant leather wing backed chair. Taking more care to be quiet and not disturb them I draw closer to the window.
Out of the corner of my eye I see a drip then a drop. Even though I had thought to avoid disturbing the student I ready myself to mention that something of theirs, perhaps a water bottle, is leaking. As I walk towards them and bend around the corner of the chair I stop, in horror.
Her eyes are wide and staring, mouth slightly gaped open and from her neck down she is covered in blood.
I notice detachedly that the deep red shoe that had blended in so well with the magenta chair and lush red carpeting, wasn’t originally red. The other student’s shoe is a soft grey color. The red shoe is covered with the drip dropping of blood as it runs down the student’s arm to her finger and down onto her shoe.
