Her head still buzzed a little, so Mary moved at a comfortable pace, taking in every detail of the space around her. The entrance to the Library was framed by an arch adorned with intricate plasterwork shaped like intertwined rosehip branches, their buds yet to bloom. The doors themselves were unremarkable, made of wooden planks bound together by an iron bar. Instead of a handle, a proud ring hung on the door. She wondered who would need to knock to enter a Library.
Mary tugged at the ring, and a rustle of turning pages echoed through the room. Then a voice announced, “Marianna Leromeo, Entrant 1753.” So, there was the answer to her first question—her name was Marianna. And, judging by the number, 1753 seemed to be her assigned identifier. None of the digits sparked any joy in Mary’s soul, the kind you feel when you see a coincidence like 1111 or 0606. Just ordinary numbers and ordinary doors stripped away the mystery and mystique, making Mary grimace. Even in the magical process of soul relocation, everything seemed to go sideways for her.
At first glance, the Library looked like any other—shelves, ladders for reaching high places, fleeting shadows of girls darting by, and the faint smell of stale paint on paper. The room was incredibly bright, and as Mary’s eyes adjusted to the light, she realized the source. There were no lamps or fixtures in the Library—the books themselves glowed, their titles shimmering and illuminating the entire space. Each volume radiated colors ranging from green to purple, with titles often painted in gold or silver hues.
How was she supposed to find her book in this chaos? Mary closed her eyes to focus, and suddenly, she heard a clear, vivid call. It wasn’t her name or the name of the girl whose body she now inhabited, but rather a distinct urge for Mary to approach a specific row and shelf, grab a ladder, and pull down a large tome. Trusting the magical nature of this place, she followed the call. The moment she touched the spine of the book on the top shelf, her mind flooded with a foreign memory.
Marianna, whose body Mary now occupied, was only five years old. She played with blocks in a small room with enormous, unglazed windows. Clearly, this was an island near the equator: the weather was sweltering, and in the distance, people swam in the ocean. The room itself exuded poverty—there wasn’t much furniture, but everything was spotlessly clean. Marianna’s toys were minimal too—just blocks, two dolls, and a little doctor’s kit. But she didn’t need more; the love of her mom and dad made up for any material lack.
Daniella, Marianna’s mother, was cooking a delicious lunch in the kitchen. The aroma of freshly fried fish filled the house. Her father wasn’t home, likely held up at work. Daniella finished cooking and approached Marianna.
“My little sunshine, I have a gift for you,” she said, handing her a small doll shaped like a newborn baby.
Marianna’s eyes widened, and she squealed with delight, immediately tending to the doll as if it were a real infant.
“Thank you, Mommy,” she babbled happily. “Is it my birthday today?”
“No,” Daniella laughed, “but soon we’ll be celebrating a new baby’s arrival.”
“Huh?” Marianna looked at her mother with confusion.
“Learn how to take care of a little one,” Daniella explained, “because soon, we’ll have a baby in our home. You’re going to be a big sister!”
The memory cut off there, and Mary found herself still standing on the ladder. Clutching the book, she carefully descended and scanned the room for a couch or chair to sit on. But the space was overflowing with books, and the only place to sit was the floor. Mary sighed and settled into a corner near the ladder she’d just used.
The book was filled with images similar to those she’d seen in the memory. Some were new to her, like Marianna’s appearance. Mary herself had dark hair from birth, with soft waves and curls, but Marianna’s hair was much lighter, the color of dried wheat before it’s ground into flour. Their eye color matched—a blue-green shade—but Mary still felt a pang of sadness. She’d always been proud of her dark hair.
Also new in the book were images of the entire family, including the new addition—Marianna holding a dark-haired baby brother in her arms. The girl looked overjoyed, untouched by any hardship. Mary felt a sense of relief. Her new body, at least, had a happy childhood. It was hard to argue that wasn’t like winning the lottery for many.
The book’s glow dimmed, and Mary returned it to its place. Another book called to her from a lower shelf, and she stepped down one rung.
“What if I take a book that’s not meant for me?” The thought crossed her mind, but the books without a call refused to budge, no matter how hard she pulled. The Library protected the knowledge meant for specific individuals.
Mary pouted but had to accept it. She touched the book that called to her and closed her eyes for the next memory.
She found herself in the same house as before, but a few years later. This time, the girl wasn’t playing with dolls; she was doing homework. She didn’t have a proper desk, instead squeezing herself behind a tiny drawing table meant for kids aged five or six. In her cramped two-by-two-meter room, there were two more beds for her younger siblings, close in age, with whom she shared the space. The parents’ bedroom was littered with cribs, like crumbs on a Napoleon cake. Daniella was pregnant again. She already had four children, with twins on the way. Marianna understood there was simply no room for her in this growing family. And honestly, there wasn’t enough space for the new kids either.
“Marianna, sweetheart, come here,” her mother called from the kitchen, and the girl went to her.
Daniella had tied her light brown hair into a ponytail and, holding her lower back, sat down on a chair. It was clear that managing the household was taking a toll on her.
“Mom, why do we live in such a small house?” Marianna muttered. “Can’t Dad buy us a bigger one?”
Daniella sighed sadly and glanced briefly at her phone.
“Houses are very expensive, Marianna,” she said quietly. “And in the big house, or the Upper House as we call it, only the heirs live. My older brother Cedric is in charge of our family now, and his child will lead your generation. They’re the ones who live in the Upper House.”
“I want that too! I’m the oldest!” Marianna shouted. “It’s not fair that someone lives in a big house while I’m stuck in a tiny one! Do they have four kids too?”
“No…” Daniella whispered, almost inaudibly. “They don’t have any children.”
“That’s not fair!” Marianna burst into tears and ran out of the kitchen, not even asking what her mother had wanted to talk about.
Daniella didn’t have the energy to chase after her daughter, to explain, or to prepare her for the future. Unfortunately, their family had strict rules. And though Cedric had always loved his sister Daniella, after her marriage, per their traditions, she moved to the Lower House district with her beloved husband. Daniella loved her husband, but strength and money were in critically short supply.
Marianna was distraught. She cried on her tiny, too-small bed, kicking at the blanket, hoping to push it off along with all the burdens too heavy for an eight-year-old.
“Weren’t you taught not to make noise?” a deep, velvety voice interrupted, and Marianna froze in fear. Who was that?
She opened her eyes and rubbed them to get a better look at the stranger. A young man (though to her, at a height of barely over three feet, he seemed ancient) with thick, straight hair tied into a ponytail, looked at her with curiosity and mild annoyance. Marianna returned the same look.
“Who are you, and what are you doing in my room?” she asked loudly.
“Before asking questions, you should answer mine,” the man replied with equal displeasure, then grimaced and introduced himself. “My name is Samuel. I’ve come to meet your parents. I’m a friend of your uncle.”
“My uncle is awful!” Marianna crossed her arms. “He doesn’t even have kids, and he lives in a huge house!”
Samuel stayed silent, but a smile flickered in his eyes. Marianna clenched her fists dramatically for a few more seconds before relaxing and thinking it over. Samuel looked like a prince from her fairy tales.
“I can make noise at home, by the way! But you can’t. You’re not at home,” she declared.
“Bold of you,” Samuel chuckled. “What if someone tells you to leave your home?”
The girl paused to think. Why would anyone tell her to leave? Unless her dad finally managed to buy them a new house.
“Then I’ll make noise wherever I live,” she replied reasonably.
“What’s your name, you rude little troublemaker?” Samuel asked with amusement.
“Marianna, and I’m not a troublemaker!” she squeaked indignantly.
A honeyed flame flashed in the man’s eyes, and strange wrinkles, almost like scales, appeared on his face for a split second. The vision lasted no longer than a moment, but it was enough to frighten Marianna. She sensed that behind this man in his twenties stood something greater than her young eyes could perceive.
“We’ll meet again,” he said, and left the room.
Marianna ran after him, but Samuel was already speaking with Daniella in the kitchen, and the girl was told not to eavesdrop on adults. She tried a few more times to catch a glimpse or overhear the unexpected guest, but her parents sent her to bed and threatened to withhold dessert.
Mary blinked a few times, washing away the remnants of the memory. She had a ton of questions piling up. Inside the book were textual descriptions of objects in Marianna’s home, as well as the family’s financial situation. Her father earned decently, but it still wasn’t enough for a family with so many children. There was no mention of Samuel in the text.
The mysterious stranger was featured in only one photograph, where he looked directly at the viewer with a smile. Mary hadn’t seen that smile in the memories, so could this be something Daniella saw? Or the other children in the house? Unexpectedly, the photo slipped out of the book. Mary quickly picked it up and carefully tucked it into the pocket of her nightgown. She’d look for more photos of him in other books later.
She returned the book to its place and began wandering the Library in search of another “call,” but she heard nothing more. After several hours of walking, she returned to her room.
“Hey, Google Assistant,” she tried calling the spirit. “Great Spirit? Ghost? Phantom?”
“You’re the ghost,” the spirit grumbled discontentedly. “Why are you calling?”
“I can’t hear the call of the books anymore, and without it, I can’t read anything,” Mary explained. “Why is that?”
“The Library provides the knowledge you need,” the spirit replied, slipping back into a relaxed narrator’s tone. “If there’s no call, it means you need to teleport into the body and see what’s happening there right now. Or you can just lie down and rest. Maybe tomorrow, new knowledge will open up to you.”
“Wasting time on sleep means missing out on valuable information,” Mary pointed out reasonably.
“I can’t help with that,” the spirit said, spreading its hands. “I only introduce you to the tools of this world; I’m not one of them.”
“Alright, thanks,” Mary muttered, but the spirit had already vanished.
So, today she’d have to learn teleportation?