Old Buildings, Old Books

I shouldn't be here. Everything in me was screaming to go back, so why do I keep going? There's a reason the Manor is desserted. Good reason why no one comes here. And yet, see here, another step, sending up another little cloud of dust around my feet. Reaching out cautiously, hoping to find a source of light, and something scuttles over my fingers. I pull back with a shriek, but it's muffled in the ancient air. It feels like l am breathing cobwebs. The door at the end of the corridor swings open with a slow creeeak. I have never wanted anything more than I want to turn around and run. Just run, as far and fast asl can, away from here. It's like there's a hook in my guts, and someone is pulling on its string... Every nerve in me is stretched tout, ready to snap. I don't want to step over the threshold and through the door. I don't want to walk down the rows and rows of shelves. That old vanilla smel is sickly sweet in my throat, choking me. As if I'd intended it all along, and yet without knowing I was going to do it, I reached up. The book seemed drawn to my touch, and fell open in my hands. I managed to read a little of it before the pages riffled forward. Enough to see it was writing my life. Not just the significant things, either Things I'd forgotten. Personal things. There were, written in front of me, secrets I'd never have shared not even with a soulmate, had I believed in such things. Shameful things, that I'd tried to forget so thoroughly it was like they never happened... ...feet rooted to the spot, I am helpless to resist the outpouring of my soul on to the pages, until there is nothing left...