Ruby's Point of View
I got hit in the face by the book as it flew off the shelf.
"Ouch!" I rubbed my nose and looked around the library, which was empty. That was strange. It's not like books, especially heavy ones about fairy tales, just fall down.
When I opened the book, I saw something that made my heart skip a beat. The cover was bright. Not like a torch or anything normal—it was glowing with a soft silver light that seemed to dance across the pages.
Not only did I say, "That's impossible," but the glow got brighter as I said it.
Thunder crashed outside so loud it shook the old library building. Like they didn't know what to do, the lights went on and off. I jumped and nearly dropped the glowing book.
"Ruby? Are you okay in there?" called Mrs. Henderson from the front desk.
"I'm fine!" I called back, quickly shoving the book under my sweater. The glow died down, but I could still feel it warm against my stomach. "Just the storm!"
My hands were shaking. Books don't glow. That's not how the world works. I'm Ruby Martinez, and I've worked at this library for two years. I help people find books, I organize the shelves, and I tell stories to kids during story time. Normal things. Real stuff.
But this book wasn't normal.
The storm outside was getting worse. Rain hit the windows like angry hands, and the wind howled like something was trying to get in. Or maybe trying to get out.
"Ruby!" Mrs. Henderson called again. "I'm leaving early because of the storm. Can you lock up tonight?"
"Sure!" I said, but my voice came out squeaky. I cleared my throat and tried again. "No problem!"
I heard her footsteps going to the front door, then the sound of it closing. The lock clicked. Now I was alone with a book that shouldn't exist and a storm that sounded like the end of the world.
The book was still warm under my sweater. I pulled it out and gasped. The glow was back, and it was writing words in the air above the pages. Real words, floating in silver light.
"She who reads these words will see what others cannot see."
"What others cannot see?" I read out loud, and the words in the air changed.
"The girl with the kind heart will open doors that have been closed for one hundred years."
My mouth went dry. This was crazy. Books don't write words in the air. They don't glow. They definitely don't talk about girls with kind hearts.
But I couldn't stop reading.
The flying words kept changing, telling me things that didn't make sense. About animals that lived in shadows. About a town built on magic. About a library that was more than just a place for books.
"This is nuts," I said, but I couldn't put the book down. It was like it was stuck to my hands.
Outside, the storm got even worse. The lights went out totally, leaving me in the dark except for the silver glow from the book. That's when I heard it.
Footsteps.
Slow, careful footsteps coming from the basement.
I froze. Mrs. Henderson was gone. The library was locked. No one else should be here.
Step. Step. Step.
The footsteps were coming up the basement stairs. Getting closer.
My heart was beating so fast I thought it might explode. I wanted to run, but my feet wouldn't move. The bright book was getting heavier in my hands, and the words in the air were spinning faster.
"He comes to find what was lost."
"Who?" I whispered. "Who comes to find what?"
The footsteps stopped. Right at the top of the basement stairs.
I held my breath and listened. Nothing. Just the storm outside and my heart beating like a drum.
Then the lights came back on all at once, so bright they hurt my eyes. When I could see again, I looked toward the downstairs door.
A man stood there.
But he wasn't a normal man. He was tall and thin, with black hair and skin so pale it was almost white. His clothes looked old, like they were from a movie about long ago. And his eyes...
His eyes were the same silver color as the light from the book.
"You found it," he said, and his voice was soft and sad. "I've been looking for that book for so long."
I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. But something about the way he looked at me made me feel sorry for him instead of scared. He looked like he hadn't slept in a hundred years. Like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
"Who are you?" I asked, surprised that my voice worked.
"Someone who made a terrible mistake a long time ago," he said. "Someone who's been waiting for the right person to find that book."
The book in my hands was shining brighter now, and it was getting warm. Really warm. Almost hot.
"What's happening to it?" I asked.
The man took a step toward me, and I saw something that made my blood turn to ice. Behind him, his shadow was moving on its own. It was stretching toward me like a hand, getting longer and darker.
"The book chooses its reader," he said. "And it looks like it's chosen you."
The shadow-hand touched my foot, and everything changed.
The world turned. Colors got brighter. Sounds got louder. And I could suddenly see things that hadn't been there before.
The library wasn't just a library anymore. It was full of floating lights and moving shapes. The books on the shelves were talking to each other. The walls were covered in symbols that glowed and changed.
And the man in front of me...
He wasn't just a man. He was something else entirely. Something that fit in the fairy tale books I read to children. Something that shouldn't exist in the real world.
"What are you?" I whispered.
He smiled, but it was the saddest smile I'd ever seen. "I'm the monster from the stories your grandma told you. The one who lives in the shadows and comes out when the moon is dark."
Lightning flashed outside, and for just a second, I saw his true face. It was beautiful and terrible at the same time. Ancient and strong and full of pain.
"And now," he said as the thunder crashed around us, "you're the only one who can help me become human again." The book in my hands burst into flames—silver flames that didn't burn but felt like ice—and I knew my normal life was over forever.
But the scary part wasn't the magic or the strange man or even the book on fire.
The scary part was that I wanted to help him.
Even though I didn't know who he was or what he'd done, I wanted to help him more than I'd ever wanted anything in my life.
And that's when I realized the book hadn't just picked me to read it.
It had picked me to save him.