Daisy Vale
744 Words
Daisy loved stories.
She always had.
Stories were easier than people.
Books never judged.
Books never laughed when she stumbled over her words.
Books never looked at her with disappointment when she wasn't enough.
At twenty-six, Daisy had accepted that some people were meant to live extraordinary lives while others simply read about them.
And she was perfectly fine with that.
Or at least that was what she told herself.
The bell above the library door chimed softly as another visitor entered.
Daisy barely looked up from the stack of returned books she was cataloging.
"Good morning, Mrs. Thompson."
The elderly woman smiled.
"Good morning, dear."
The woman paused.
"You know, one day you're going to look up from those books and realize life has passed you by."
Daisy laughed politely.
She had heard some variation of that sentence more times than she could count.
Everyone seemed concerned about her.
Her parents.
Her friends.
Her coworkers.
Even complete strangers.
Apparently, being single, quiet, and happiest around books was a tragedy.
Daisy didn't see it that way.
Most days.
Today wasn't one of those days.
Once Mrs. Thompson disappeared into the fiction section, Daisy released a sigh and returned to work.
The library was old.
Beautifully old.
Dark wooden shelves stretched from floor to ceiling.
Tall windows allowed golden sunlight to spill across worn carpets.
The scent of old paper lingered permanently in the air.
Most people found it outdated.
Daisy found it comforting.
The library felt like home.
It always had.
Especially lately.
Her apartment felt too quiet.
Her social life was practically nonexistent.
And her last relationship...
Well.
The less said about that, the better.
The truth was simple.
Daisy wasn't unhappy.
She was just...
Restless.
As though something inside her had been asleep for years.
Waiting.
For what, she didn't know.
The thought followed her through the morning.
It lingered through lunch.
And it remained with her as she pushed her glasses higher on her nose and wheeled a cart of books toward the archive room in the back.
The archive was her favorite part of the building.
Most visitors never saw it.
Most employees rarely entered it.
Daisy spent hours there.
The room was cool and quiet.
Rows of rare books sat behind locked glass cabinets.
Some were centuries old.
Others looked even older.
She loved them all.
As she worked, her gaze drifted toward her handbag resting on a nearby chair.
A familiar flush warmed her cheeks.
Inside the bag was the novel she'd been reading.
A dark romance.
Her latest obsession.
Again.
She glanced around the empty room before pulling it out.
Just for a minute.
One chapter.
Maybe two.
No one would know.
Daisy settled into a chair and opened the book.
Immediately she was lost.
The heroine was strong but vulnerable.
The hero was dangerous.
Possessive.
Protective.
Completely obsessed.
The kind of man who would burn down the world for the woman he loved.
The kind of man who didn't exist.
At least not in Daisy's experience.
She had dated.
A few times.
Enough to know reality rarely matched fiction.
Her ex-boyfriends had been nice.
Normal.
Safe.
None of them had ever truly seen her.
None of them had ever asked what she wanted.
And Daisy had never been brave enough to tell them.
Not about the fantasies she hid.
Not about the desires she buried beneath polite smiles and cardigans.
Not about the part of herself that wanted more.
Much more.
A sudden noise pulled her from the story.
Daisy jumped.
The book nearly slipped from her hands.
"Relax," she muttered to herself.
The archive was empty.
Completely empty.
Still.
She could have sworn she heard something.
A whisper.
A movement.
A page turning somewhere deeper in the room.
Her eyes wandered toward the far corner.
Toward the oldest section of the archive.
The section that remained locked.
Always locked.
No exceptions.
No explanations.
The door stood exactly where it always had.
Silent.
Motionless.
Yet something about it made her pause.
A strange feeling settled over her.
Brief.
Unexplainable.
Gone almost as quickly as it arrived.
Daisy shook her head.
Too many books.
Too much imagination.
That was all.
She returned her attention to the novel.
But for reasons she couldn't explain, she found herself glancing back toward the locked door one more time.
As though something on the other side was waiting.
Watching.
Patient.
The feeling should have frightened her.
Instead...
It made her curious.
- Writer
