@dylanthesleuth
Plot: Research Assistant Wanted
A few days had passed since the bonfire incident, but Christine still found herself dreading sleep and lacking the rest she obviously needed. Even when she passed out by accident, the old soul could no longer keep her lids closed for more than a shy over three hours and the dark color shadowing her eyes had become more and more apparent. She could handle nightmares; the dreams of her past lives could be very frightening sometimes, but at least nothing ever tried to kill her there. They were only premonitions, visions that reminded her of what she truly was, suppressed memories demanding to be released for a greater good. They couldn’t harm her the way the sandman had done when it had sunk its claws into her flesh.
Despite the exhaustion, she realized that sitting in silence and fear would not do her any favor. So now that she had finished her morning coffee at Roasted, the musician decided it was time to hit the library. She was long due for a visit there, anyway, and after a whole 30 minutes of browsing the supernatural section, she was finally ready to do her research. With her glasses on, she began to scan several ancient newspaper clippings that might shed some light on the last few happenings in the old mining town.
It was very hard to concentrate when your body was constantly begging you to lie down and let the slumber take over for a while, though, that Christine didn’t realize she had started nodding off until someone shook her shoulder to wake her up. The stranger’s figure remained a blur for a moment, but after blinking a few times, she eventually gained a clear sight of the boy in the wheelchair that she recognized to be the junior librarian.
“Sorry...,” the blonde mumbled as she shook her head to sober up, “I didn’t come here to sleep, I promise. It’s just... I’ve been very tired lately,” trying to keep her voice down, she explained in both spoken and sign languages. Something else seemed to catch his attention, however, and it didn’t take that long for the older Radcliffe to notice it was her choice of reading materials. “Oh, these... They’re only for personal uses, don’t worry. You know, with all the crazy stuff they put on the Telegraph, one can’t be blamed for helplessly growing curiosity over the matter, don’t you think?” smiling sheepishly, the lady shrugged. “Are you into this kind of thing, too, by the way? Do you believe in the existence of unexplainable forces?”
