#sable the moth

[tortured-librarian]

(The fluttering sound of wings breaks the horrid crawling silence of the Dark Library, Harbinger barely having the strength to land properly as he hits the dusty flooring next to Jekyll's feet. He coughs out the letter, shutting his eyes for a moment to rest)

My dearest friend,

I am so sorry. This should have never happened.

Please, I am coming to get you out of that horrid place. That sentence is MINE to carry, not yours.

Hold the line my friend, keep your wits about you, and whatever you do... DO NOT START READING. Stay safe. I will get you out.

Regards,

~Crowe~

Jekyll is lying on the floor, staring up into the fog and trying to cure the spiral going on and on and down in his mind, when a letter gets promptly dropped on his face

mmh..

He stirs, glaring at the letter as if it were some omen of death, looking worriedly at Harbinger before reading

..get me out?

Don't..read?

"Hah...too late for that my friend." his voice is wry, hollow from hours? of staring up at nothing and daring that bird to come back down and torment him

He drags himself up to sitting, standing only to grab the quill and the inkwell

"Crowe,

..I fear it is too late. Unless you mean do not read other books because... I know what I am. Nothing but a forgery of words that someone has written for me. Don't come here. You're free now.

Henry"

He had hoped the hopelessness didn't creep into the writing but even that had to spite him too.

Sable appears before Harbinger can even lift his head, chirping a few words of greeting at Jekyll before flying off with the note clutched tightly.

Silence once again, well, save for the few noises Harbinger makes. Jekyll looks over, wishing to give him something, anything to make him feel better.

"I...don't know if there are any seeds in here. I'm...sorry."

@schrodingerslibrary

[tortured-librarian]

The soft beating of wings woke him from his sleep, much like every day. Sable was no where to be seen, but a covenant of moths - shimmering blue and midnight dusk - swarmed over his head, some of them dipping down, their wings brushing the tear marks from his cheeks while he slept. Time passed rarely, maybe not even at all in here - his old pocket-watch rooted deep in his jacket pockets tilting and moving and not quite counting seconds. It seemed much like a compass in some ways, pointing in different directions then refusing to point to anything immediately after. As if the electromagnetic fields in here were….off.

Oh so surprising.

Jekyll sat up, adjusting the wire frames glasses that slipped off his nose. The Library swam back into focus, dingy and dusty save for the cob-web covered lanterns that emitted a soft, almost warm glow.

The novelty he had upon his arrival had definitely worn off by now, the almost childlike wonder of being lost in a library so deep that light would not ever touch him again now replaced by a deep rooted dread now that all he saw was darkness. He had not spoken a word to Apocalypse after shouting at the poor thing. It was probably trapped in here with him, having no choice in the matter but to stay. Jekyll opened his mouth to fight the condensed air against his windpipe, to call out to the Raven above, but his gaze shifted to the cloud of moths. Below it, dotted on the creaking wooden floor they some of them, still and unmoving, their wings twitching in memories of flight.

He found himself picking a few of them up in his fingers, marveling in grotesque awe as the colour from their wings dissolved into soot on his fingertips. Thick, chalky and gritty, it stained where it touched on his ever-paler skin.

He collected the remaining ones, carefully placing them on top of an unused bookshelf. He refused to look at the single book on that shelf, gathering dust and stray moth antennae.

A look up into the rafters confirmed that the silence didn’t mean he was alone, red beaded eyes looking down on him from a dark corner.

He recalled the hatred, misplaced anger, and gave the entity a small, half smile.

Apologies didn’t mean anything here. It meant more to years of dry inkwells and half faded manuscripts than it did to them.

[tortured-librarian]

Jekyll is still on the floor, back pushed against the desk and knees pulled up to his chest when Sable arrives, dropping the note neatly at his feet as he scrabbles for it.

“Henry,

I’m on my way, please, please, please don’t do anything rash, you don’t have to apologize for anything, please don’t do anything until I get there,

Gabriel”

There's a moment of silence before a groan escapes him, before he shoves the note back to Sable, away from his eyes that tear up with unwanted moisture.

He won't find...me...he..he won't..hah he will s-spend ages...

In a sudden flash of rage, Jekyll punches the stack of books next to him, not caring as his knuckles catch on the metal embellishments and start to bleed, slowly. He couldn't feel anything anyway, so what was the point? His large ring digs into the skin, tearing the sensitive flesh in-between the fingers.

Sable looks on, sad but silent.

It's fine. He wouldn't lose himself. He won't lose himself he'll be okay, he'll be fine it had to be okay