The Scream of A Thousand Libraries Chapter 16: Chapter 16: The Last Ruin.

Read chapter 16 of The Scream of A Thousand Libraries by Susangja on NovelPedia.

POV: HELENA IVYRA. After my conversation with Renata, the following days passed in a blur. It was curious how time could mold itself to someone's presence. I never imagined that a silent constant could be so comforting, almost therapeutic. She came every day, one day with fresh flowers, another with slightly burnt cookies that she insisted were "intentionally overcooked." It was her gourmet touch. I smiled. And smiling had become possible again. A simple gesture, but one that now bloomed as if something inside me was thawing. Little by little, breathing also stopped being an effort. The air returned to my lungs without hurting. Time seemed to dance with less haste when she was near. Every minute ceased to be a burden, every hour a little lighter, as if the weight of existence had been diluted in her presence. And for the first time since everything, since the library, since the pain that fractured me inside, since the chaos that stained every thought. I allowed myself to simply… rest. Not like someone giving up, but like someone gathering strength. Like someone recognizing the need for an intermission between one battle and another. ‘Wow, what's gotten into me to be so poetic lately…’ During the mornings, I'd find myself staring at the ceiling, thinking of nothing. The emptiness, once oppressive, was now almost comforting. In the afternoons, we'd talk about everything except magic, libraries, or destruction. We talked about food, about strange clothes we saw in magazines, about recipes neither of us would ever try, about a distant future where everything hurt a little less. At night, sometimes, I'd find myself wondering what had happened to that strange enchantment. Since I still wasn't feeling fully recovered, I didn't even try to use my enchantments, but as soon as possible, I intended to test them to better understand what had happened. Moreover… I have something to investigate. A few days later, on a Sunday with an absurdly blue sky and clouds that looked hand-drawn, I woke up feeling my muscles ache with less intensity. My body was still a post-conflict battlefield, tired, a bit rusty, but the rigidity was yielding, and mobility was gradually returning. As if my soul was finally negotiating the terms of its return with my flesh. "Today's the day," Renata said as she entered the room with her usual energy, the kind that seemed to defy the weight of the world. She carried a light backpack, but full of meaning: my favorite coat, my house keys, and one of those green juices she swore worked miracles and that I pretended to like just to see her smile. "What day?" I asked, still half-asleep, my voice muffled by the transition between dream and reality. "The day to go home." I felt a wonderful sensation realizing that I could finally return to my routine. Hospitals are incredible places when we're in trouble, but staying in one for too long is as painful as being trapped. Even with this good feeling, I decided there was one last thing to do. "I want to go to the library first," I announced, stretching to get up. Renata looked at me for an instant. Her gaze softened, full of understanding. She knew. Of course she knew. She always knew how to read between the lines. "I thought you'd say that. I brought water, and we'll go slowly. You're not ready to run a marathon yet." I gave her a mocking smile and replied: "You think? I could run the São Silvestre tomorrow." "Uh-huh, I know…" she replied, rolling her eyes. I finished getting ready. At one point, my mother came to the hospital, we settled all the medical details, and I picked up prescriptions for some pain medications I'd have to take for the next few days. After that, Renata and I parted ways with Mom, who went home. Meanwhile, we headed downtown, to the library. The walk there was punctuated by a dense, but not heavy, silence. I It was a silence that protected me. That respect. That said "I'm here" without words. I needed that space. Every step pulled too many thoughts, every