"What is a book, truly?

Is it just a couple of pages filled with words, kept together by a cover?"

The words struck Ib as she crossed her fingers over them. Those words… she couldn't find their meaning. The carving left a strange coldness spread throughout the whole atelier, but it was there since she first stepped inside, a few years back. What could her grandfather've been thinking when he took his easel and carved those words? That question invaded her mind every time she would gaze upon that particular corner of the room.

But she came here today not to collect her thoughts, but to paint.

So, leaving the mysterious inscription behind she took the tools she needed and stepped outside the room. A single word could be discerned on the nameplate that by now was starting to rust: "Weiss".

She made sure to go down the stairs very carefully while carrying the paints and brushes as she wanted to avoid another complaint from the landlord.

"Off again, miss Weiss? I sure hope that you won't stain another one of my carpets with that paint of yours." He said so while pointing at one of the carpets in the hallway that had a clear spot right in the middle, as if decolored.

"Don't worry, mister Aasva. I will take great care from now on. Last time it was an accident."

The old man didn't reply, but instead gave a small smile and motioned to Ib to go off on her way. She nodded and boldly stepped out of the door.

The cold winter morning stung her cheeks a bit, but she didn't show it. She marched on the crowded streets until, after about half an hour, she found a certain apartment building. It wasn't the best of things, but it felt like a second home to her, nonetheless. Clumsily, she took out a key and entered the building, almost dropping half of the things she currently got a hold on. Climbing the stairs she thought of how good an elevator would be in her situation, but she sighed, knowing that will never happen.

Finally, she arrived at the door labeled 122.

Without knocking she tried opening it, but it was locked.

"That's strange… He knew I was coming today..."

She put the tools down and took out the spare key for the apartment that was entrusted to her long ago. As soon as she opened the door, the reason why it was locked became apparent.

"You… weren't you supposed to quit smoking?"

Indeed, the room was filled with the smell of cigarettes, confirmed by the ash tray on the table in front of his bed.

"Busted?"

He said smirking, but Ib could only sigh.

"Look here, Garry… you were trying to quit since 10 years ago. But somehow you always end up smoking again."

"It's not that I can help it. I just feel the urge to do so."

With a sigh she gone out of the room to get her tools and placed them at the usual spot.

"I'm not going to ask any further. I know I can't change your mind on that… just try a bit harder next time… ok?"

"Okay..."

His answer was lacking energy. The conversation between the two ended right there. For the next couple of hours none of them would engage in conversation, instead they would both do what they felt like doing. Ib would be painting and Garry would be either reading a book or watching her paint. Today it was the latter. It calmed him, seeing her paint, most of her artworks being deemed as masterworks even to the untrained eye. He did envy her skill even since she was a mere child, but he was also rooting for her to get even better.

The thought of Guertena suddenly filled his mind as he thought about Ib.

Those works were all part of Guertena's art. Some of them were even bought out by certain individuals across the globe.

So… why were all of them there? It wasn't just a hallucination, since Ib saw the same things as him. He concluded long ago that this train of thought will lead him nowhere, but he couldn't help himself.

"Hey… Ib. Do you want to go see that gallery again?"

At those words her brush stopped dead in her tracks. Her hands trembled a bit as she put it down.

"How long are you going to ask me that?"

Her words were strained. She wouldn't face him. She really couldn't. Since… she's been there countless times before. Every time she did so, she would eventually end up in tears. Since she was only a child, she knew too little of the true horrors of that place, but as she started growing up, her fear of that place seemed to grow too. She remembered everything that happened in the Fabricated World even now… and she was terrified. Her memories of that place, combined with the artworks she's seen made her realise how great of a miracle it was that they even managed to escape in one piece.

"Sorry. For proposing something so out of place."

"It's ok..." But even as she said so, her hand wouldn't touch the brush. Garry's morbid curiosity got the better of her every now and again when he mentioned that gallery. She couldn't blame him as she, herself, went there countless times by now… yet she couldn't bring herself to look at that one painting… the one that opened the door to that strange world. She never managed to muster enough courage to even turn that corner on the first floor.

"Hey Ib… that painting… never mind." Garry said cryptically, but it seemed Ib didn't hear him, lost in her own thoughts.

Suddenly, her phone vibrated, waking her up from her trance. She took it out and read the message.

"I've got to go. It's ok to leave the paints here, right?" She said in one breath as she bolted out the door, not leaving Garry enough time to respond.

"So… you're leaving me with that… huh?" He begrudgingly stood up from the bed and looked at the almost finished painting on Ib's canvas, taking hold of it. "So, I guess it's just the two of us, now." He smiled, but unease lingered in his body. Again, she made the same painting… for years now… the same one. "I guess she doesn't realize it herself… but, even so… she is as good as her grandfather." With a resigned smile he placed the canvas next to the others.

With those words he crashed in his bed and pulled another cigarette from the pack.

"Sorry, I completely forgot." Ib said with a ragged breath as she was met by three others.

"Don't worry, don't worry. It was just a spur of the moment kind of thing after all." The girl in front of Ib smiled, her glasses slightly crooked. Next to her was another girl, much shorter than Ib. She never saw her before now. Just by looking at her she figured out she wasn't much of a talker. Her crossed arms and reserved attitude was something Ib also went through as she grew up, but she graduated from that. The girl's striking red hair left an impression on her though, even if it was cut short.

"Yeah… but I have to say… you really did a great job on this one, prez. I never thought a library would be hidden here." The last one was Maxwell, a boy around Ib's height wearing his hair long. She knew him well, since he was a classmate of hers.

"Hhm." Agnis said proudly as she puffed out her chest, her glasses almost falling in the process. "Yeah, well, let's not all stay here. We're gonna become snowmen otherwise." With those words she pushed all three of them in the direction of the door and before too long we were inside.

The library was quite larger than what it seemed from the outside, but Ib was happy just to get inside where it was warm. She spent almost an hour searching for this place.

"Now, everybody, you know the drill." Agnis raised her voice, the whole group nodding in unison. "Good. Then, bring your findings to the front desk when you are done. Disperse!" With those words she skipped as she walked to a nearby shelf and began inspecting the books one by one.

"She's really into it, prez." Maxwell whispered to Ib.

"Like always." She smiled while watching Agnis relentlessly searching for an interesting looking title. "So, what about you? Are you going to start searching or what?" Ib asked with a chuckle.

"Might as well… Hey..." He was looking around, probably searching for the red haired girl, but she had completely disappeared. With a loud sigh he started walking in a direction at random and made a small hand gesture, shooing Ib away.

She also picked a random row and began looking through the titles for something that she may find interesting. About half way in the first row, she found it strange that there were no author names present on the shelves, but she didn't question it as this was a library in the middle of nowhere. Perhaps they simply forgot.

She searched some more and... she found a book that made her freeze in her tracks.

"Receptionist's Log"

Somehow, that title made her heartbeat accelerate. She took it from the shelf and opened it to a random page.

"Green room - entry 1, the guest arrives."

"Green room - entry 2, death by sculpture."

"Green room - entry 3, death by sculpture."

"Purple room - entry 1, the guest arrives."

"Purple room - entry 2, death by inhaling poison."

The rooms and entries were piling on and on without an end, until…

"Blue room - entry 1, the second guest arrives."

"Blue room - entry 2, the second guest learned a new word from the first guest."

These two entries made her drop the book, the sound reverberating in the whole room. Her hands were trembling. She immediately pulled a book from a row at random and sure enough her fears resurfaced. The author was none other than W. Guertena. Each one of those, each one that she pulled out and threw away had those letters engraved on them.

This was no ordinary library. This was a library dedicated to Guertena's works.

She was starting to panic, but she managed to keep her cool. She took off in the direction of the main lobby, but with a resigned smile she found out that there was no such thing in sight anymore. Just rows and rows of books.