\n\u201cAllow me to taste your ink, if you\u2019d like to enter my library,\u201d the vampire said as soon as I crossed the threshold. Moonlight speckled silver in the gaps between the heavy curtains covering the windows in the front room. Rows of bookshelves stood at attention in the dark beside my host, waiting for me to pay his fee. My eyes burned and blisters throbbed and I knew the rumors I\u2019d followed into the forest were true. The vampire\u2019s library contained more information than most humans could fathom, but his knowledge came at a price. Most paid it with their lives on the journey; there were many things living within the trees ready to tear and bite and lead travelers astray. Arriving alive was half the goal.\n<\/p>\n
\nI nodded, and he held out his hand. His palm was white, unnaturally smooth, no wrinkles. No lifelines.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cIt only stings for a moment,\u201d he said, voice smooth, soft\u2014a quiet reassurance, like my father\u2019s had once been, steady, chasing away monsters I now willingly sought.\n<\/p>\n
\nA sharp pinch precluded the dull ache that crawled up my arm, through my chest. I looked at the vampire, but startled to feel the warm press of my mother\u2019s embrace. The ink pooled on my skin, dragging memories forward so vivid I could nearly see them in the sheen clinging to my skin. I flinched at the memory of my brother\u2019s hands shoving at my shoulders, turned toward the sweet scent of cinnamon, tried to back away from the cloying taste of blood on my tongue. The vampire held me fast.\n<\/p>\n
\nThick globs of black, depths glistening purple and midnight blue, smeared across my skin. A cosmos of memory caught in the flickering candlelight, part of the story that made up my life until the moment I\u2019d reached the library. The ink rolled down my forearm, looped around my wrist, and then dug tight into the vampire\u2019s hand. A bitter tang clung to the back of my throat. The memories remained, but now part of them belonged to him. My mother\u2019s goodbye stung a little less deeply. My father\u2019s indifference was shared. I thought back to my brother\u2019s sneer, when I\u2019d fallen and bled before I left. It hurt less, as if someone had rubbed the raw edges of those moments grey. I felt worse knowing someone had tasted the broken pieces of me.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cSalty,\u201d the vampire said, pulling his tongue across his teeth. His eyes had gone dark as the ink that\u2019d disappeared between us. \u201cYou taste like salt and smoke. A hint of cinnamon.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nWhen stressed, my mother baked. When pressed, I\u2019d fled.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cStay the night,\u201d the vampire said. \u201cSearch if you\u2019d like. Don\u2019t set the collection on fire.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nHe left me with a row of unused candles, walking into the shadowed stacks as I rubbed at my wrist. I could still feel the slight ooze of ink against my skin. That memory remained sharp.\n<\/p>\n
\n
\nI woke with pages crushed beneath my cheek and the vampire tapping on my shoulder. Night had fallen again and found me in a deeper, darker place. My dreams had urged me homeward, taunting me with a warmth that wouldn\u2019t exist if I failed to find answers in the library.I\u2019d turned pages until my hands cramped, read until my vision blurred and smeared and failed me.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWill you remain in my library?\u201d the vampire asked.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYes,\u201d I said, offering him my hand. \u201cI\u2019m not finished.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nTogether we watched the ink spiral down beneath his skin. More of my story, but some of the older pages, when my feet had always been dirty and my stomach always full. My ears rang with old laughter, coated sour on the edges with the pleading I\u2019d done before I\u2019d left. Begging my family to listen, to understand. When he released me, I couldn\u2019t recall the exact words I\u2019d said, or track the tension written into the lines of my family as they\u2019d let me go.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cStay the night,\u201d the vampire said, patting my hand, just once. \u201cRemember that one day your ink will run dry.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI swallowed down the panic that rose to meet his warning. When the ink was gone, I would have nothing left to pay the vampire, and he would force me out of his library. Back into that cold, dangerous forest; back to my loneliness. The story of my life wasn\u2019t so long, so far; I didn\u2019t have much time before my welcome would run out. I needed to find my answers quickly; I had no other choice. Nothing to go back to if I arrived empty-handed.\n<\/p>\n
\nI turned back to the books, finding some comfort in their indifference toward who held them.\n<\/p>\n
\n
\n\u201cWhat question brought you here?\u201d the vampire asked on the third night. He\u2019d found me deep in the library, down a spiraling stairway and across an echoing chamber. A cramp locked my neck and my eyes burned for sunlight that couldn\u2019t be found there.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cIf I tell you, could you help me find my answers?\u201d I asked, pressing my lips together, tight, when he glanced away. I\u2019d known I\u2019d be doing this alone; the stories I\u2019d followed never mentioned any assistance offered by my host. Still, I realized how nice it was to have someone sit beside me, someone who might listen.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI look after the books,\u201d the vampire explained. \u201cI don\u2019t look into them.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nHe waited, dark eyes fixed on mine, as if I\u2019d promised him a story.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI need to find a way for them to understand me,\u201d I said, flushing under his attention. From frustration, and shame, and anger that I had even been forced to feel ashamed. \u201cThen I can go.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWho is it that brought you here?\u201d the vampire asked.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cMy family,\u201d I answered. My brother, whose lips had peeled back as he\u2019d shouted at me to fix myself or never return. My mother, who would have me shove the truth away inside me, deep enough to rot and fester. My father, who had already started the slow process of pretending I didn\u2019t exist.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cMyself,\u201d I added later. Because through time and distance, the weeks that had passed since I\u2019d left home, my despair had dulled into determination. Because beneath the hard words and rough hands and confusion, all I really wanted was a way to claw back to happiness.\n<\/p>\n
\nI stared at one of my open books while we held hands. That night, the ink stabbed deep.\n<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWhat don\u2019t they understand?\u201d the vampire asked a few days later. \u201cWould I?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nHe\u2019d brought another chair to sit beside mine, and had stood to relight one of my candles when it flickered and faded in a draft sneaking between the endless bookcases. There were depths to this library I would never touch, a perpetual itch at the back of my neck.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d I admitted. \u201cI\u2019ve only just begun to understand it myself.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nIt had been horrific and gratifying all at once, to realize something that had always been a part of me. To put into words how I felt, or more essentially what I didn\u2019t feel. The relief that came with speaking truth aloud and then, everything that had come afterward. The screaming upset that had never belonged to me.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI can taste it in your ink,\u201d he said, rubbing a hand across his thin lips. \u201cI\u2019m putting together the story of you, out of order. There are too many paragraphs still missing.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI leaned back, wood creaking beneath me in a squeal, a question mark. Smoothed a hand over one of the crumbling books tucked into my lap, filled with stories about other families, and relationships and children and expectations.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cMy parents told me it was good to be different,\u201d I said. \u201cThey meant someone who stood out as a leader or inventor or storyteller. Not the kind of different when you could love someone, and love them well, but part of you shrivels inside whenever your lips touch. Where you aren\u2019t sure you\u2019ll ever be comfortable with kissing, or more.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nThey hadn\u2019t understood, because I hardly had the words to understand it myself. I didn\u2019t need an explanation, but they did, and in one of these books I\u2019d find the right words. A good way of telling it. A way to fix things, when I refused to see it as a way to fix me.<\/em> A way to make them understand.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cShe left me when I told her,\u201d I said to the vampire. \u201cI loved her but that wasn\u2019t enough for her to stay. My family wants me to do anything to get her back. Pretend like that conversation never happened. It\u2019s important to our social standing. Important to them, how others see our family. I\u2019m the one ruining our reputation because my wife left me. Because I won\u2019t give her children. Because I rarely want to touch her.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nThe vampire exhaled. His hand flexed against the armrest.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cAre you comfortable, when we\u2014\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cOh, yes,\u201d I said, turning back to the books and holding out my hand. \u201cThat, I\u2019ve never minded.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n \nThe ink ran slow, days later. Weak, greyer than the vampire\u2019s frown. The memories dredged up the feel of rain against my scalp. The sweet taste of apples harvested from my family\u2019s orchard. I remembered a different, smaller hand, enveloped in mine before pulling away. It felt as if a sheet had been hung between me and my past. I could still see it and remember it well, but, out of sight, it mattered less. I didn\u2019t know if that was because of me, or the vampire; I decided I didn\u2019t care.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou don\u2019t have many stories left to share,\u201d the vampire said, licking his lips.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI need to stay,\u201d I said. \u201cI need answers.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nTime had slipped away from me, slick as the darkness fading beneath the vampire\u2019s skin. My nails dug into my wrist as if the sharp pain would draw out more ink, add a few extra chapters to my life. Beyond us, the library continued onward and backward, to shelves filled with novels and textbooks I hadn\u2019t touched, notebooks and loose pages I needed to read. I\u2019d skimmed hundreds of stories, read thousands of spines and still had no explanation to give to my family. I had no way to fix things in a way that would bring back my wife.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThis library holds much, but not everything,\u201d the vampire said. \u201cMany leave satisfied, but some never look in the right place.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nMy breath hitched, mouth drying with the first flares of a panic I\u2019d hoped to bury somewhere in those faded memories. Failure loomed and more than anything, I felt utterly alone.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI don\u2019t mean to say it\u2019s any fault of yours,\u201d the vampire told me, stark and calm as a period perfectly placed at the end of a run-on sentence. \u201cSometimes it\u2019s the people my visitors left behind who most need to pay the library a visit.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n \nTwo evenings later, the candles burned low, and no ink flowed between us when the vampire took my hand. I swallowed down my disappointment, abandoning the last of my books on a tabletop to gather dust until a new patron arrived. I\u2019d heard stories of visitors who\u2019d overstayed their welcome\u2014or rather, stories of those who never left the library alive. It was time for me to leave.\n<\/p>\n \nThe vampire led me past sections I\u2019d already sorted through and sections I\u2019d left untouched. Dread built in my chest, dragged at my ankles. I\u2019d found stories of others like me, some who\u2019d found love and some who\u2019d never wanted it, some who had families supporting them and others who\u2019d gone on alone. There was no why <\/em>to it, no reasoning\u2014that was just the way those people were, the way their lives had been lived.\n<\/p>\n \nMoonlight gathered in the library\u2019s front room, peeking through the old curtains.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI\u2019m sorry to have bothered you,\u201d I told the vampire on his threshold.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cDid you?\u201d he asked, thin lips curving.\n<\/p>\n \nI thought of the stories I\u2019d read and the people in them, and wondered if my mother or father or brother turned those pages, if they would see through to the truth of me. They\u2019d see I wasn\u2019t someone waiting to be fixed. They\u2019d see there was more to a person than changing themselves to preserve a legacy.\n<\/p>\n \nI exhaled. My family could find their own way to the library, if they were willing to risk the journey. My work was done, when it hadn\u2019t been my burden to bear to begin with.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou may return when you have more stories to share,\u201d the vampire said. He squeezed my hand before letting me go. \u201cThough I hope you will find my library bearing different questions. In the meantime, less salt would do well for your ink, I think.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI went out into the world and left the library behind.\n<\/p>\n Kayla Whittle works in marketing and social media for a medical publisher. She has previously had a short story published in Luna Station Quarterly. Most often she can be found on Instagram @caughtbetweenthepages or on Twitter @kaylawhitwrites. When not writing, she\u2019s usually busy reading, embroidering, or planning her next Disney vacation. She currently resides in New Jersey. <\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" \u201cAllow me to taste your ink, if you\u2019d like to enter my library,\u201d the vampire said as soon as I crossed the threshold. Moonlight speckled silver in the gaps between the heavy curtains covering the windows in the front room. Rows of bookshelves stood at attention in the dark beside my host, waiting for me …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":107865,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,20094],"tags":[20095],"class_list":["post-140097","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-tcl-43-spring-2022","tag-the-colored-lens-43-spring-2022","entry entry-center"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/140097","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/107865"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=140097"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/140097\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":140098,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/140097\/revisions\/140098"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=140097"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=140097"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=140097"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
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