The Library
April 8th, 2019
The one-eyed viper. I remembered seeing that insignia on the shoulders of the soldiers that had attacked Kite’s End and taken Isaac. It was very little to go on, but it was the only lead I had. I was on my way to the Library of Congress in Washington DC, one of the biggest libraries in the world. I had searched the internet for any trace of the mysterious military force even going as far as the fifth page on the Google Search engine, but without luck. I was no wizard in the online world, never had been, never would be. Books, real ones with which you could flick your fingers through the pages, had always been my go-to source for information - call me old fashioned. No matter how long it would take me to find what I needed in a library that held over one hundred and fifty million documents, I wasn’t going to give up. Among the many books, photos, recordings, and much more, there was bound to be some trace of the one-eyed viper.
I had never been to Washington DC before, nor the Library of Congress for that matter. Upon walking in the door of the Jefferson Building, one of three buildings making up the library, I was absolutely dazzled. Gilded Age architecture made its interior a visual masterpiece, a work of art worthy of housing the immense amount of knowledge that it held. I saw many tourists snapping photos for their social media profiles on my way in and for once I understood why they wanted to share their lives with the world. This was one of the rare sights in life worth sharing. I would pick nature over anything man-made without a second thought, but architecture like this, I could appreciate it nonetheless. Once I had taken it all in I realized the flaw in my plan. How in the world was I going to find anything in here? I spend ages sifting through the many books, taking several at the time back to the main reading room where I had claimed a small booth for myself. One after the other I put them back again as well - none the wiser. After a couple of hours, I found myself back at my booth once again having lost count of the sheer amount of books I had skimmed through. This time, though, something was different. I felt a pair of eyes burning on the back of my head. I had thought I was being watched before but not as clearly as I did then. I lifted my gaze from the paper and looked over my shoulders. I met no one’s gaze. However, the moment I turned around again, the feeling returned. It was an eerie feeling. You know something’s there, but can’t quite figure out what it is, where it is, and more importantly, what it wants. I closed the book I had in front of me, knowing nothing more about the one-eyed viper than when I came in and went to put it back where I’d found it. From the corner of my eyes, I spotted my stalker. She was watching from her seat a couple of booths down. Her expression was of one being forced to endure an unpleasant odor. Her gaze was unwavering and unabashed. Those grey eyes behind gunmetal spectacles did not travel up to my face or down to my shoes, but they followed me as if really focusing on something a couple of feet further away. Perhaps her introspective nature led her to be locked in thought as she observed, it was hard to know. I quickened my pace to the shelves. I could still feel her eyes following me around. By now I had learned my way around the shelves and quickly disappeared in the maze of books surrounding me. I waited for a moment until I saw a young woman clearly looking for someone.
