C H A P T E R : i don't believe in time travel

A few days pass since Grandpappy's erratic episode. And now I ironically find myself knocking on the library door of the man who had attacked me not too long ago.

"Come in," a voice bellows inside, and I turn the knob to a landscape of large, brown bookcases flanking the sides of the room. The place is enormous, almost like an actual public library. However, unlike the stuffy, dirty smell of one, Grandpappy's smells like dust and age, the kind that makes you feel like you've traveled back in time. It's the very definition of ancient, with warm undertone colors of brown and mahogany. Shelves upon shelves with books filling it to the brim occupy the majority of its space, with the only other furniture being a rich oak desk, a chair, and a basil-colored carpet below it.

Grandpappy sits in the middle of the room, surrounded by books and a small, dim lamp. His back faces towards me, hunched over with the tip of a feathered quill peeking behind his shoulder.

"Good evening, Mie," Grandpappy greets, body straightening from his poor posture. His head faces towards the large window that sits at the end of the room, its view overlooking the village of Epsersein. I follow the direction of his eyes and find an ominous storm brewing. "I'm sorry to call you in so late."

"It's only eight," I reply, body stiff with consciousness. "It's alright."

"I just want to apologize for my behavior from before," he continues. He still refuses to face me. "You've discovered a side of me that only Isakiel knows."

"I-It's alright," I say again, but this time with hesitation.

I don't know how else to reply.

Finally, my grandfather turns his head to me, his eyes void of any life and wrinkles more defined than last I saw. Hazel eyes as dead as mine somehow comfort me, reminding me that I'm not alone in this darkness.

"Tell me, granddaughter, do you believe in fairytales?"

Fairytales? You mean like the humpy-dumpy crap little kids read?

I shake my head. I once thought fairytales existed, that even though the entire story itself wasn't perfect, at the least the happy ending will be. But now I know all too well that's bullshit.

He purses his lips. "What a shame. I thought you'd always been the type to live in a fairytale."

I once did. But because I did, I was blinded and ended up like this.

"Then..." Grandpappy begins, eyes searching for something in mine. "Do you believe in time travel?"

I furrow my brows.

What the fu—

"Those are the questions I normally ask myself before beginning a novel," the man continues, hand beckoning me to come forward. I hesitate to make any movement, but I manage to take a few steps just enough to hover over his shoulder. My eyes immediately rest on the piles of crumpled and creased papers filled with scribbles and scratch-outs of words. "If you start with the words 'do you believe' or 'what if,' it initiates your imagination to dream of the unknown. It baits your creativity out of its hibernation in the dark depths of your mind and unleashes its fury to forge masterpieces that could never have thought to be created." He looks up at me. "It's a good start, right?"

My eyes blink.

He's a damn writer for sure.

"So, what kind of book are you creating?" I ask him, eyes following the hastily scribbled notes on the scattered pages. My eyes catch notice of a name written in big, bolded script. "Rose?"

"Yes, the main character of this new project of mine," Grandpappy says. He pulls out the page with a detailed character description of her appearance and traits. He hands them to me. "I'm venturing into uncharted territories to test my abilities as a sorcerer of words. Most of my books have been spiritual or mystery. But a sudden urge compelled me to test a new genre."

"And what genre is that?"

A small smirk plays on his lips. "Romance."

The very word and genre I despise the most.

"So, a love story," I say.

He nods. "This one's going to have three installments to it, each with a different character but within the same world. It has some spiritual elements to it since its protagonist will have to lose something before beginning their journey to find themselves again. But the difference is, all protagonists are time travelers. Hence, I asked the question 'do you believe in time travel'."

Grandpappy takes the paper from my hands and leans his chin onto his palm. "Well, Mie, do you believe it is possible?"

My answer is obvious. But if it were me a month ago, I would have considered the possibility.

"No," I scoff, a smile forming on my mouth. "I don't think we have the technology for that."

"What if you don't need technology?" He asks. "What if all you need is magic and a will to disappear?"

I look at him as if he's still high with LSD. For all I know, he still may be. But yet again, he's a writer.

Writers are freaking weird in general.

"I'm sorry. I think I'm scaring you, aren't I?" He giggles, eyes creasing into a kind smile. "I guess I'm rather eccentric for normal people." He leans over to one of the larger drawers of his desk, pulling out a stashed bottle of brandy and two glass cups. "Want a drink?"

A month ago, I thought alcohol was the devil. But now it's one of the only things that still keeps me living in this world.

"Just one," I reply, leaning against his desk as he pours me a glass. Once he finishes, I take it and chug the whole thing in one go, my action quickly making me tipsy. "Do you live in a fantasy, Grandpappy?" I ask out of impulse.

It conjures a hearty laugh from the old man, startling me. "I guess I do make it quite obvious," he chuckles. "I mean, it is better to live in a brilliant fantasy than face this burdensome reality, right? It's a means of an escape for some people, so that the darkness and the void in their lives don't consume them into an uncontrollable wildfire."

In other words, living in delusion is better than facing one's obstacles head on.

His words resonate with me, and I hate that it does. My intrigue starts to rumble as I wonder what compelled this man to put the feeling I experience everyday in such fine, exquisite words. And what experiences he underwent to harbor the same feelings I do.

"Do you want to escape, Mielle?" My name on his tongue rolls out so finely. "Do you want to forget about everything in this world?"

Do I want to forget?

Forget about the wedding, forget about the pain, forget about him...

Do I want to forget everything I once had and once was?

I stare at my glass that sits in between my hesitating fingers. "Maybe."

"I'm surprised that we are more alike than what we thought," Grandpappy says, and again, I hear a drawer pulled out from beside him. My eyes wander to his hands and find a beautiful silver locket dangle on his stubby fingers, with words written on its casing.

Beatrice, it reads. My nose scrunches up at its sight. Again, that woman...

"This was Beatrice's," he begins, eyes glazing over with a kind of beautiful remorse. "She wore it around her wrist instead of on her neck. She wore it everywhere and refused to take it off. It was her means of escaping— of... leaving." His last words were soft, almost lost in eerie silence.

His hand holds itself out in front of me. Hazel eyes as rich as mine stare deeply into my soul. "I want you to have it," he says, voice firm. He watches my every move, as if my next action will determine his following words. To his relief, I take it out of curiosity and feel its round silver grind against my skin. "Open it."

My fingers feel for its opening, and a small click sounds as I unlock the locket's contents. Inside are small words, so fine that I have to squint just to read them.

"Read it." My grandfather says it like a command, a certain kind of eagerness making him jittery.

My eyes peruse the words.

"Very few live and learn," I read. My eyes travel back to Grandpappy who just nods for me to continue. "Our ancestors died without living. Our parents died following the footsteps of others. But which story is ours to follow? Which is ours to tell? Oh, divine Time, grant me the power to lose and gain. Grant me the power to shed this pain. Let the lost find their paths. And let the hopeless awaken from their eternal naps."

I furrow my brows, shaking my head. "I don't get it—"

Suddenly, a striking surge of pain ripples down my spine, causing me to fall over the desk as a burning sensation tears my skin apart. I grunt as the pain only intensifies, every movement I make sending daggers to slit my skin. My vision spins, its ends darkening and fading like a scene from a movie. My head throbs and feels heavy as if someone was pulling me down the pressuring seas.

Grandpappy jumps from his seat, frantic lips moving to form words that sound like nothing more than voices underwater. He reaches out to me, and I do the same, finding my fingers slowly disappearing into small sparkles.

What the—

"Grand—" I retch out, but something grabs the collar of my shirt and pulls me down. Liquid encompasses my limbs, and I feel a hand cover my mouth. I try to fight it off, but my vision darkens. The sounds quiets into stillness, my body stiffens under a control that is not of my own.

I find myself wallowing in the waters of darkness.

And I wonder if I have finally succumbed to the void.