Over Again | ✓

L a c u n a

Chapter Thirteen

❝ if you want the rainbow,

you've got to put up with the rain. ❞

;

Dolly Parton

It had been a day.

A day of roaming around the lavish house, or rather mansion, with no one else around. It was like a ghost town of, well, ghosts. Just kidding. Still glad to know that my dry sense of humor was still alive.

For the past morning, I would find three meals to last me for the rest of the day, fresh new clothes and other undergarments. I might've thought myself to be a princess living in a castle with invisible servants had it not been the reminder that I didn't know where I was and whether my friends were still okay or not.

I'd only allowed myself to feel just a little bit of dread and anxiety and the rest nothing. It was better to feel that way than let the fear consume me and the thoughts I've been left to deal with.

Today, I roamed the house farther than the last I did for the past day. I'd visited a total of fifteen rooms and more left to see. Half of them were empty bedrooms, similar to mine: a grand chandelier, carpet covering the glittering black tiles, frame-adorned windows and an empty book case. The difference though was the white high back piano in my room. I didn't dare touch a key.

This time, I threaded my way to an unknown hallway, red carpet rolled into the very center as sconces lit up the way in a blazing yellow light like a sweltering fire. I pushed open the white door as ungracefully as I could and was met with the sight none other than the library.

"Oh God. This is..." My words trailed off as I emerged in a circular room with tall bookshelves overflowing with books in varying sizes and width looming over me. It reminded me solely of when the Beast surprised Belle with his gigantic library as a gift.

I let my fingers skim over the spine of the books, some etched with marks from being overly used and read whilst the others looked to be untouched. Encircling the antique-looking study table in the middle of the room, I took notice of the neatly stacked papers in the corner with a pair of spectacles as paper weight.

"Who the Hell lives in this house?" I muttered under my breath, eyes darting between the words inscribed on the paper. "And who even uses a fountain pen as a normal writing tool for these?"

"I believe I do, Miss Woods. Or should I say Miss Dougherty?"

I whipped around I could've gotten whiplash and grabbed the thing closest to me—which was unfortunately an unplugged lamp and held it at eye level. "Who are you?"

Ignoring the loud and fast beating of my heart, I took a deep breath and eyed the old man in front of me. He was clad in what I thought to be a typical businessman's suit and a patterned maroon tie, his shiny black shoes glinting every time the sun caught it.

He walked a few meters to the bookshelf on the far left of the room, cane clicking against the wooden floor, a contrast to the rest of the beautiful house. "I wish for you to put the lamp down. My dear wife got it for me during our fiftieth anniversary, if I recall correctly."

"Who. Are. You?" I glared at his back as he picked up a book from the shelf. "And where am I? Why am I here? How did you know my father's name?"