Crimson peak re-telling (Reader x Tomas Sharpe)

ℭℌą℘ţℯr XVII

Whispers from a dead woman

Thomas left you in the morning after giving you his sketchbook and promising to be back in time for dinner. You watched him go with a heavy heart, yearning more than ever to tell him of your encounters and suspicions. Resolved to plan something first, you decided to get dressed and head to the library. You brought the sketchbook along, curious to take a closer look at Thomas' designs to see what, if anything, you could understand, and to see what Lucille believed she was doing to prevent it from working. You also secretly knew you would look at his drawing of yourself again. The way he saw you... The way he captured every curve, the expression in your eyes... It was intoxicating and quite flattering.

The mansion was still as cold as ever so you grabbed a shawl before leaving your room. The more you looked into the corners of nearly every room, the more you noticed the peeling wallpaper and the black moths which were most likely the cause of it. They seemed to stay away from you for the most part, but you still hated them. Averting your eyes, and focusing on your path, you soon found yourself in the library. You set the sketchbook down on the table, intent on picking a book for when you were done gazing at the drawings.

You let your feet take you where they might, wandering around bookshelf after bookshelf. It somehow seemed warmer in the library, although you had not lit a fire yet. You felt more at home in this room than any other place, with the exception of the bedroom so long as Thomas was in it.

Trailing your fingers across the book spines absently, you suddenly stopped when you felt something different. Turning, you looked at the offending book with surprise. For reasons you could not discern, this book had a different spine than the rest. Rather than leather, it seemed almost like velvet. Looking at it, you would not have known the difference. Both looked worn and dark colored. But upon feeling it again, you realized it was much softer than the other books. It was a good sized book too. Larger than even the longest novel you had seen before. How had this escaped your notice? Looking around the aisle, you realized this was around the spot that you had found Thomas' late wife's necklace.

Curious, you pulled the softer book out of the shelf and held it. It was heavier than you would have supposed it to be. Even stranger still, it had no title that you could see. No markings indicated what the book was, or by whom it was written. Feeling a sort of connecting with this misfit, you took it over to the table to examine the contents.

Sitting down, you opened the cover to the first page. It was blank. Turning that page revealed something even more odd. The book was hollowed out. The deep pages had been cut in order to contain the wax cylinder within it. You had seen these before, played a few, even, but you were surprised to see one here, let alone in such a peculiar place. The reflection on the necklace came back to you. Perhaps this belonged to the previous wife as well? Perhaps she had hidden several things in the library. It was not unlikely. Closing the book with the cylinder inside, you looked around the large room for some kind of playing device.

Traversing the room, you rummaged through the cabinets in the back. With a small amount of luck, you found the device that would play the wax cylinder's recording for you. Just as you were leaning down to take the device out, you heard footsteps at the far end of the room. Turning abruptly, you saw Lucille coming in with the horrid tea tray, a harsh smile on her lips.

"My dear," she addressed you too warmly. "My apologies for my absence lately. I feel we have not seen each other in ages. I thought I might bring you some tea. I'm afraid the weather is still ghastly outside."

You quickly peered out the snow-coated window and sighed. The high rifts of snow had show no sign of lessening, and indeed had been added to the previous night with a smaller storm. The post office seemed further and further away. You suddenly missed your father and Margaret terribly and felt further away from them than ever.