She inhaled softly, the smell of old books comforted her soul. A smiled slipped over her lips lifting up their corners as her eyes greedily devoured the view. Row upon row of books were lined up like an army stretching as far as her jade eyes could see. A hum vibrated in her throat as she stepped nimbly down the first aisle of books.
Trailing a finger over each book’s spine she let the titles drift through her brain. A few of them briefly captured her attention. When that happened she would carefully slip the book out of its place to peruse the blurb on the back of the book. She returned each book to its original slot. As she was replacing the last book she met resistance. Gently she angled the book in for a better fit. Still, resistance stymied her. She tucked a strand of errant red hair behind her ear then peered into the darkened slot. At first she saw nothing, as her eyes adjusted to the darker area she spied the culprit.
Slipping her hand into the darkness she let her fingers guide her to the small book. She sighed when her fingers encountered a butter smooth leather cover. For a moment she simply enjoyed the book’s texture against her splayed fingers. Gingerly, she grasped the book in the palm of her hand pulling it out into the light. Tooled into the rust hued leather surface was the book’s faded title:
“The Anonymous Oath.” Her voice seemed to echo loudly in the library’s silence.
Sheepishly her eyes darted towards the Librarian’s desk. The dark haired woman behind the desk was undisturbed by her vocal intrusion. She let her breath out slowly relieved not to have interrupted anyone.
With the utmost care she opened the leather embraced book to discover the secrets lying inside. Turning to the first chapter her eyes were captured by the opening line:
“He died a gruesome death. The kind of death that should not be wished upon any soul, even the darkened soul of a scoundrel such as he.”
Intrigued she rapidly flipped to the back of the book searching for the brief overview of the book’s story. On the back cover, barely readable, she found a treasure of words.
“Abigail was a woman who had fallen upon the hardest of times. Her life began abandoned on the porch of an overflowing orphanage. Time after time the people in her life rejected her leaving her to fend on her own. She learned to trust no one…to believe no one. Then Constantine Lord darkened the door of the bordello where she was a worker. Clutched tightly in his hand was a note that he declared was to be given to Abigail Sinclaire and no one else. Abigail had warily opened the wrinkled parchment. One line of perfect penmanship in red ink the color of blood stared up at her from the page:
“My oath to you is this: Every person who has harmed you in any way shall suffer horribly.”
The rest of the words on the back cover of the leather book were faded beyond recognition. No amount of squinting revealed even a single word. Her mind was racing with all the twists and turns of the plot that might occur in Abigail Sinclaire’s story. Her red head bobbed once as she determined that since the book had revealed itself to her the least she could do was take it home for a read.