Another moment of awareness. Of consciousness. The inside of the library again, much of it concealed in gloomy darkness. The young woman had never been outside the library and she knew that she never would be. She was allowed to know that because it made her miserable.

  This was an instance where she would move around with certain restrictions. It always had been so. She raised a hand and let it glide over the long, almost silver hair of her ponytail. She had been made beautiful but what did that matter? She walked up and down the high rows of bookshelves in the main room, her ink-blue librarian uniform making the faintest sounds as she moved.

  Aside from her, the library was deserted. No one but her knew or would ever know that she was the only staff. No one but her and the Voice. She was waiting for it to speak again.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “You have to stop”, she mumbled, “You have to stop right here. Destroy it if you can. I can't do it but you can. You are the only one who can. Please understand what I am allowed to say to you. Otherwise you will just cause more suffering. So I beg of you, please stop right here.”

  The Voice set aside some time for her ramblings and automated wanderings among the bookshelves. She was made to think and reflect as she was moved around. About the young man who would be led to dissect a monster that held an absence within that confirmed the destruction of his entire world view. About the other young man and his inevitable descent into violence. About the young woman whose sacrifice would lead her into darkness. About the third young man who would achieve the fulfillment of his sad, cruel wish that he could not even acknowledge to himself. But most of all she was made to reflect on her own powerlessness. That she could not change or influence anything. That all the actions she was allowed to take were an exercise in futility.

  “And here we are again”, the Voice finally spoke. “I am looking at the little anthill that I made and it is busy exactly the way I like it. They are just like the others but I like playing with these three ants the most, I call them Dead Bird, Angry Doll and Starless Night. Look how I am making them run all over the place! Now, what should I make them do next? But of course you already know that. The courtesy is all mine.”

  *