Go to the library, nerd

Saturday night.

You told Riley you needed some air. That she and her friends could have the house to themselves tonight. They were already pouring wine and putting on music when you left.

Riley had on that hot red dress you loved to see her in, and her friends weren’t exactly shy either: Chloe, the one with the fake tits and permanent tan, gave you a wink that felt like it was designed to mock you. Eve, blushing as always. Tatiana didn’t even look up and just kept scrolling, her long legs folded under her, nude stockings clinging like a second skin. You felt like the fifth wheel.

You mumbled something about maybe going to that library thing you'd seen a flyer for, the fantasy-inspired thing. Riley barely heard you. They were already gossiping, half-buzzed.

So you left. Cold air in your lungs, jacket zipped halfway. Sure, you feel extra charming tonight, but you choose the library. Nerd.

You walked. The crisp air felt good.

The city library had dimmed the lights and pulled out the wine cart for this autumn event. Candles flickered in the dark. Someone had set up a record player in the corner playing low jazz, and the entire place smelled faintly of red wine, old paper, and something musky you couldn’t place. The usual sterile library feel was gone, replaced the stench of people trying to hard to come up with somewhere else they could fit in.

People stood and talked in loose groups. You saw plenty of pink-haired girls in corsets, platform boots, long velvet skirts. A few wore fake elf ears or subtle golden crowns. A guy with a long white beard and a silk robe argued loudly about the deeper meanings of the Nazgul. Another was shirtless under a leather trench coat. You kept your distance. The smell of oddness.

You liked to read, sure. Fantasy? Yes. But you never felt at home in this crowd. You felt like the only one who was sane and normal. Just jeans, hoodie, sneakers. Normal. That’s what you told yourself.

Married, happily, you weren’t here to flirt with goth or fantasy women who spoke sindarin. You went to the books instead, and that's how you found it.

It wasn’t behind glass. It wasn’t even on the main display. It was just lying there on a low table by the shelves, like someone had forgotten to include it in the presentation. The leather cover had no title. Just a symbol: a ring of ouroboros biting its tail, embossed deep and worn smooth. When you touched it, the warmth surprised you.

You opened it. The pages weren’t printed. They were hand-lettered, flowing black ink on thick paper that smelled like candles and something slightly foul. The words weren’t quite readable at first, the font was Fraktur. Your eyes watered as you tried. But then it clicked:

She will kneel not out of duty, but hunger. And he who wears the seal of cock shall know no silence, only surrender.

You laughed. This nonsense was so stupid it felt like a parody of itself. Ancient horny nonsense passed off as mysticism.

You shook your head. Maybe this wasn't your thing after all?