Guild Quest  Day 1. The book I didn’t take
Guild:  Double D’s

Day1 – The Book You Didn't Take
I stepped into the House Library a little after midnight, telling myself it was just curiosity, just a quick walk among the shelves to shake off the long day of bruised knuckes, engine oil drips on my face and my back on a cold concrete floor. The air smelled of old glue and something faintly metallic, like coins left too long in a pocket. Most of the books sat in their usual half-sleep, spines dropped and dusty, but near the far eastern wall—where no one ever lingers—there was a single volume that refused to blend in.

It stood slightly proud of the row, as though someone had pushed it forward an inch and then walked away. The cover was the color of dried blood under moonlight, matte and unreflective, with no title on the spine, only faint characters that looked like they had been carved rather than printed: ͐ ͪ ͡ ͝ ͑ – an Aramaic lexicon. Too pristine for this place. No cracked hinges, no foxed pages, no library scent of slow decay. It looked like it had been bound yesterday and at the time like it had waited two thousand years for exactly this shelf, exactly this hour, exactly me. I reached for it, fingers hovering, knuckes screaming, then my hand pulled back. The silence in the room deepened, as though the shelves themselves had held their breath. I left it there, untouched, and walked out without looking behind me once.

I still don't know why I couldn't bring myself to take it.   Maybe because it wasn't waiting to be read.    Maybe because it was waiting to be remembered.

Guild: Double D’s
Day 2: The Page That Breathes

The Book of White Magic's glimmer focused on a single paragraph: "The Secret Shelf reveals what was always present but never seen." When I breathed onto the page, frost crystallized into words directing me to the third shelf beneath the folklore collection. At midnight in the empty library, I pressed against the back panel and my fingers passed through like smoke, revealing an impossible space filled with glowing book spines. I pulled out an ancient diary by Eleanor Vance from 1952, chronicling her gradual disappearance—"Today I cast no shadow," "Our wedding photo now shows empty chairs"—ending with: "I'm leaving this on the Secret Shelf where forgotten stories live. Maybe someone will breathe life back into me, the way books breathe when they're read." I understood then: the Secret Shelf was a collection of unmemories, stories erased from history fighting against oblivion, and the Book of White Magic had been recruiting me. Behind me came that synchronized footstep, and when I turned, Eleanor Vance stood translucent in her 1950s dress, whispering, "Will you remember me?"

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❤ День второй Гильдия « От чайников до…» Всю ночь не могла уснуть- думала, к чему эта книга Некромантии появилась в нашем Домике? Вроде все тут положительные и добропорядочные! Но кто-то же подкинул её! И решила обратиться к Магде, она больше знает о таких делах. Магда долго вертела эту книгу в руках, даже принюхалась к её обложке, потом сказала - На каждый яд должно быть противоядие, раз в библиотеке есть добрые книги, ищи волшебную, ту-  у которой светятся страницы, она поможет изгнать злые мысли из нашего Домика. Сколько книг я перебрала, даже не знаю, уже практически отчаялась найти нужную.устало присела в кресло, взглядом обвела библиотеку: за окном темнеет, в комнате тихо, прикрыла глаза и даже задремала. Вдруг, через прикрытые веки, показалось, что на одной из верхних полок книжного шкафа появилось небольшое свечение… Тихонько приоткрыла глаза, нет не показалось, там действительно что-то мерцает! Беру лестницу и тянусь к источнику мерцания- старинный фолиант Книга Белой Магии!!!

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Guild Double D’s

Day 2 – The Page That Breathes

I returned to the Library today because apparently I have the self-preservation instincts of a moth with a death wish and a very bright bulb. The Aramaic Dictionary was still there, looking smug, but I ignored it like I ignore unread texts from my ex. Instead, my eyes snagged on something far more polite and infinitely more dangerous: a slim, ivory-bound volume titled Book of White Magic (subtitled in very small, apologetic script: For the Pure of Heart and Slightly Delusional).

When I tilted my head, one page caught the lamplight wrong—like it was exhaling. A soft, pearlescent shimmer rippled across the paper, not reflecting the bulb overhead but glowing from underneath, as if someone had spilled moonlight on the inside and forgotten to mop it up. The book was trying so hard to look innocent. Too hard. Like the friend who says “I’m fine” seventeen times while clearly having a nervous breakdown in the group chat.
This thing isn’t illuminating spells.

It’s illuminating me.

Every time the light dances, I feel it scanning my soul like a particularly judgmental airport security wand. “Pockets empty? Heart empty? Ambitions questionable? Excellent, proceed to existential crisis.”
I shut it gently (because slamming a breathing book feels like bad karma) and backed away.
Apparently the Secret Shelf thinks I need spiritual highlighting.

Rude.

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Guild: Double D’s
Day 3: The Letter That Doesn’t Exist

I found the Sanskrit Dictionary lying open on the library floor at dawn, though I'd shelved it properly the night before. Every entry looked normal except for one symbol on page 347—the letter "र" (ra) had been written three times larger than it should be, bleeding dark red ink that hadn't dried despite the book being printed in 1891. When I touched it, the oversized letter peeled off the page like a sticker and stuck to my fingertip, pulsing warmly. Suddenly every word in the dictionary containing that letter began rearranging itself: "dharma" became "dhama," "karma" became "kama," "mantra" became "manta." The meanings shifted catastrophically—sacred became profane, eternal became temporary, truth became illusion. I tried to press the letter back onto page 347, but it had burned itself into my skin like a brand, and now when I speak, every word I say loses its "ra" sound mid-air, the syllables crumbling before they reach anyone's ears. My grandmother's ghost appeared in the doorway, took one look at my marked finger, and whispered "That's not a letter—it's a lock. Something in this house has been sealed away using language itself, and you just broke the first seal." From somewhere deep beneath the floorboards came a sound that might have been breathing, or might have been a word I could no longer pronounce.

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