It's a one word essay on "enchantment".
Enchantment
War was being waged. Panic and pandemonium was rife throughout the land, spreading like an infectious disease. After countless days of being rained down by myriads of metallic, podgy droplets of nuclear shells, my family decided that it was to our best interests if we relocated. My younger sister, older brother and I were to be sent to stay with a distant relative, a man who went by the name of “Tom Riddle”. Curious name, if you asked me. Nevertheless, I had little choice and accepted my parents’ decisions.
The ride there via train wasn’t a lovely experience, especially since I was prone to motion-sickness. Nonetheless, we had managed to escape our belligerent state to seek refuge in neutral Switzerland. At least here, we would be safe.
Or so I thought.
Once we arrived at the train station, we were escorted by our distant relative’s chauffeur in a classy automobile. Judging by this encounter, our relative must be making some decent money, I mused. Though my musing was partially correct, it was far from accurate. My relative was indeed making really decent money, I mused once more, as the car came to an abrupt halt in front of a tall, handsome manor.
As we trudged up the snow-covered cobblestoned pathway, luggage in hand, I could not help but to stare wide-eyed at the looming manor. On one hand, it was a magnificent building noticeably made with skilled workmanship, and it induced a feeling of awe within me. Yet on the other hand, its towering presence seemed to fill me with vibes of apprehension.
After rasping the polished oaken doors with its brass handles, a man came out and greeted us with a warm smile. He was a portly man, with a rubicund visage, and did not seem like anything of a bigot. He hurried us in to the warm, cozy living room, mumbling about “not wanting us to catch a cold”. He gave a brief tour of the manor and gave us the freedom to explore the parts he missed out. However, he did set restrictions. Waggling his finger sternly, his tone became suddenly serious, as he warned us “not to enter the library on the last floor”.
“Pray tell, why should we not?” I questioned, meekly.
Giving us a furtive glance, he ignored our question and announced that dinner would be served at half-past six in the dining hall, before residing back to his personal quarters.
Days went by with us whiling our time away by exploring the manor. To our surprise, we found many interesting rooms, such as one boasting a range of nautical charts and maps; and another choked full of stuffed animals. These out-of-the-ordinary rooms piqued my interest about the “Forbidden Room”, a name we gave to the library on the last floor.
A gust of ominous cold wind washed over me as I made my way along the creaking floorboards. Looking around, I noticed that the door to the library had swung open-“must be the wind,” I told myself.
Or so I thought.
I inched my way to the entrance of the library.
“Whatever you do, don’t enter the library on the last floor”.
The stern warning spoken by Tom resounded in my head, and replayed countless times. Yet…
I took a step forward. The suspense of the shrouded origins behind this warning fuelled my resolution to uncover the mystery behind it all.
I made my way forward hastily, throwing furtive glances around me, in an attempt to make out my surroundings. A structure in the middle of the library caught my eye; a lecturn, borne on top a raised platform. I picked up my speed and brisk-walked towards it, trotting up the miniscule steps and circled around the lectern. It held an archaic bestiary, adorned with intricate patterns. Naturally, I flipped the ancient volume open.
It was a fairytale. Beautifully hand-drawn illustrations plastered every page, filling the book with kaleidoscopic colours. I was enchanted by the pictures. Pictures of fairies, phoenixes, dragons and mythical beings were imprinted on every surface. However, there was one thing I noticed- the book had no words. Puzzled, yet fixated on the illustrations, I shoved the thought away and continued admiring the art.
Queerly, the more I read, the more the illustrations seemed to look lifelike. It appeared as if the illustrations of the book had leaked out of its pages, and materialised inside the library. The walls of the library were no longer choked full of books; in its place, were endless miles of luscious plains, stretching to the far ends of the horizon. Dryads were dancing in the wind, dragons soared above my head, minotaurs trudged around the field. It was a spectacular sight to behold. I realized that the pictures I had seen as a kid in books pertaining to mythical creatures were drawn with almost comical inexactitude; they carried an air of magnificence, a far cry from the inaccurate depictions in children’s fairytale books.
“I wish I could stay here forever,” I wondered aloud, mesmerized by the surroundings.
Little did I know that I was being sucked into the bestiary, and not what I had thought about the illustrations materialising. I was oblivious that I was under the enchantment of the book, until it was too late to turn back.
As I uttered my wish, an invisible quill etched my spoken words onto the page of the book.
The page flipped and the book closed, with a thud that resonated through the eerily empty library. What I was shocked to see was that I had been flipped, along with the page.
Alas, I was stuck in the book, possibly for eternity.
“Curiosity killed the cat.” If only I had heeded those words.
