Golden evening rays leak through cracks in the branches of the trees, illuminating the area in a glorious sparkling hue.

Lyra comes to a stop when she hears the fall. Rushing water cascades over moss-covered stones; lush green grass cushions the base of a collapsed ancient gazebo. Wildflowers grow abundantly, nourished by the fall sprays, and butterflies flutter in the crisp air.

Small woodland critters stare as she approaches, watching her with intense curiosity. Her cobalt blue gown drags across the blades of grass, the gold trimming glistening in the light from the escaped rays.

She strolls past them to where a piece of collapsed stone separates the falls' wet veil. She stares into the shadows behind the water for a moment, then turns to look around the forest to see if anyone is watching.

A hidden trove of unfinished tales, tucked away behind the glistening water. Stories left abandoned by time; within their ancient pages, characters remained trapped, waiting for an ending never to be found. She could never understand why the humans would breathe life into these characters and then leave them forgotten, alone, and lost.

A princess is waiting for her true love to come and save her from an evil sister. A young wizard still learning his magic, stuck with only one spell. An adventurer with a whole world to discover is trapped on a page that leaves them in the village of their birth.

Reaching into the dusty stack, Lyra grabs an old leather-bound book tied gently with a strap of string. This was one of her favorite books; she often lost track of the day when reading it. She was eager to immerse herself in a world of royalty, complete with majestic horses and grand celebrations fit for kings and queens.

Often, she would imagine herself wearing a beautiful red gown, standing at the top of a staircase, and looking down at a young knight named Sir Emrys, who was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs.

Sir Emrys is a handsome, tall man with black hair and beautiful dark brown eyes. His armor is dark, midnight blue leather, strong enough to fight off any sword or arrow. A courageous knight, he selflessly rescues people in distress and protects the vulnerable from oppression. He possesses cunning intelligence, exceptional tracking skills, and articulate speech while upholding a strong sense of integrity.

Sir Emrys' story takes place in the Kingdom of Athrilla, a vibrant and profitable realm alongside a dark green endless sea. With his trusty steed, Whims, he travels the kingdom seeking adventure and spreading goodwill.

She sits down gently on the soft ground; critters gather on top of her dress and snuggle into the fabric, waiting for her to read to them. She folds her legs under her and carefully opens the old, torn brown book. She takes a deep breath and carefully reads the words on the well-worn pages.

"Where did we leave off? Oh yes; once upon a time... Far away in the kingdom of Athrilla". As she read on, the world around her faded into the background, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Sir Emrys crouched low over Whim's neck; his loyal steed galloped through the storm. Rain slams against them, and thunder rolls over their heads. They press on, pursued by enemies on dark horses. The path ahead vanished as a large tree was struck by lightning, crashing down. Splintered wood flies through the air, and smoke begins to grow." She pauses.

"Emry's eyes grow wide as his speed increases towards the fallen tree. Whims gathers his strength and launches himself into the air. His strong muscles rippled through the rain, landing with a strong thud. His hooves push forward on the trail, spraying a wave of mud into the air with each step. Emrys looked over his shoulder; the smoke from the tree filled his vision. He thought he had lost his pursuers for a moment; suddenly, a dark horse flew over the tree."

Lyra stares at the unfinished page and sighs; she closes the book gently. The following pages were blank; this is where Sir Emrys and Whim's tale ends, where she would make her own endings.

She looks at the small animals at her feet, "What would you like to imagine today? This is always my favorite part." They sniff the air and dance upon her blue gown. "Hm... I know!" She sets the book down and leans toward the critters.

As she starts to say something, her name echoes from the library, interrupting her.

"LYRA!"

She rolls her eyes and looks toward the direction of the sound. Then, he looks back at the animals, "Perhaps next time, my friends." With a gentle smile, she delicately places Emrys' beloved book back onto its designated spot on the shelf.

Lyra waves goodbye to her friends, annoyed that her adventure was once again interrupted.

----------------

Madam Keeper walks through the halls of the ancient stacks, her face contorted with annoyance. She is a beautiful older elven woman with hair as white as snow, tied up with a white jewel band to keep it in place. Her skin is still soft and ageless, and her glasses sit tightly on the top of her nose. Her stunning green robe with golden trim drags along the floor as she moves.

Madam turns into a small hall; a door covered in white vines and blue flowers sits at the end. She knocks once before entering when she hears a mumbled whisper from behind the door.

A kaleidoscope of colors lights the room from a stained window carved into the old willow's trunk. Books line the walls, and vines crawl up between the shelves and across the pillars.

Seated behind a large desk in the center of the room is the Seeker. Though aged, his skin is still soft, and the only detail showing his age is the white hair on his head and the wisdom in his eyes. He looks up from his papers and smiles as Madam enters the room and shuts the door firmly behind her.

"She cannot be allowed to continue this disobedient behavior!" Madam spoke with a solid, unbending tone. Her eyes stare through her glasses at the Seeker; he listens intently. "It is not right; while the others are working diligently, Lyra is off playing princess in the woods." She says.

Seeker folds his hands in front of his mouth, brushing against his beard; he thinks quietly before speaking. "I will talk to her." His voice is soft; an ancient melody woven into his words.

"I am not trying to be rude, Seeker; I am simply pointing out the negative example Lyra is setting for the young Keepers." She throws her hands into the air. "I caught one pretending to be a dinosaur today!"

He looks up at her, his brows pinch. Then, he breaks into a deep laugh that resonates from his belly. His laugh is best described as a joyous, pristine, robust harmony like his heart. He leans back and whispers, "Imagination is good for the soul."

Madam crosses her arms and sighs, "Yes, but too much, and nothing will get done around here. She has skipped her duties constantly, leaving the others to pick up her slack! Not only that, but she has refused to feed her emotions into the tree." She always becomes impatient when exclaiming these issues with him; this is not her first visit to his study this week.

As Seeker is about to say something, a soft tapping on the study door interrupts him. "Come in." He leans forward in his chair and rests his elbows on the desk as Lyra enters the room.

Lyra looks down at the floor as she speaks, showing she knows why she is here. "You called for me, Madam?"

Madam turns and looks at Seeker; their eyes meet, and an unspoken understanding passes between them. He gives a slight nod; a gentle smile creases the sides of his mouth. Madam bows her head gracefully in acknowledgment. Before leaving, she stops by Lyra and gives her a stern look, then shakes her head and walks out of the room.

"Well?" He looks at Lyra questioningly. She shrugs her shoulders, and they both begin to laugh. "So, what magnificent place did you venture into today? The ogre's garden or perhaps the siren's lake?" Seeker asks. He smiles warmly and motions for her to join him at his desk.

"Allthica." She responds.

"Sir Emrys again?" He looks at her with questioning thoughts. "And what was his ending today?"

She turns to gaze out the window, her face drooping and her eyes rolling. "We didn't make it that far; my name boomed through the garden just as I was about to tell it."

"Hm." He leans back into his chair. "Madam means well; time has molded her into a strong follower of tradition. However, you do need to work on getting caught less." He chuckles deeply. "I need you to spin your story with fewer meetings with the Madam."

"My story..." Lyra looks down at her hands, her eyes filling with sadness; "What is my story?"

Seeker sits silently for a long time, thinking carefully about his words. "Well, my dear, only time will tell. Perhaps you won't be a princess or befriend a magical fairy. Or perhaps you will one day run this place." His hands gesture to the willow's walls. "You are the author of your story; who knows what adventures await you in time. But for now, your adventure is to head to the hall, grab a bite to eat, and I will see you in the alcove for our story-time."

She observes him with curiosity, many questions swirling in her mind. However, his silence conveys more than words ever could. She rises from her seat, gives him a respectful nod, exchanges a smile, and departs from the room.

Seeker sighs heavily once the door closes behind her; concern weighs down on him. His gaze moves to the scrolls and the tomes spread across his desk - spells gathered throughout time.

Suddenly, a purple light seeps from the drawer's keyhole, causing the desk to shudder and creak. Fear flickers across his eyes; he stares at the drawer momentarily as the desk shakes.

Once it stops, he regains his composure and goes back to digging through the scrolls scattered on his desk, searching for a solution to prevent what is foretold to come.

-----------------

After she meets with the Seeker, Lyra joins the other Keepers for dinner in the Great Hall. Madam is seated at the front of the room, keeping a watchful eye over the young Keepers as they enjoy their meal.

The dining hall is a magnificent sight to see. The walls and ceiling grew around the room to supply ample space. Branches grow from the walls, holding silver lanterns that illuminate the room in a soft glow. The willow leaves hang down from the ceiling, holding beautiful white flowers. A long table stretches down the center of the room, with benches lined against the sides. The willow tree magic glows brightly in this room, cups refill themselves, and vines bring out dishes of food for the hungry Keepers. The benches can sense who sits on them and mold themselves to fit the sitter's comfort. The only sounds you can hear are the chatter of Keepers discussing new pages, and the willow leaves drifting in the soft breeze that keeps the room cool. The air in the room smells sweet; hints of lavender fill the air to help relax the Keepers after their hard day's work.

Lyra sits in her usual spot, situated at the end of the table, away from most others. Her bench molds to her body, filling her cup with honeysuckle juice. While thinking about what she wants to eat, the willow vines bring her a plate of sweet mangoes and a side of sunbaked bread. She smiles at the vine; it reaches over and caresses her face before returning to its spot on the tree's wall. She sits in silence, ignoring the chatter that fills the room, daydreaming about what tonight's story will be about.

---------------

After dinner, the Keepers head up the spiraling vined staircases that lead up to the alcove, a large archway built into the willow. Once stepping through the archway, you can feel the presence of gentle magic. One window, crafted by the tree branches, holds a stunning view of Lyra's waterfall. Vines twine gracefully across the room, holding candles that never burn out. In the center of the room is a beautiful fire pit crafted from the river stones that lay under the bridge.

Behind the pit is a small wooden stool with a red cushion top. The fire that glows from the pit gives off a soft warmth but does not emit any smoke. Cushions of all shapes and colors line the floor around the pit. Wind chimes hang from the ceiling, singing when the valley's gentle breeze tickles them.

Keepers enter and find their spots; excitement is heard in their whispers. The young Keepers dance over to the smaller cushions near the front. Lyra settles into her favorite spot, nestled against the walls of the willow tree. She loves the way she can feel the tree's breath as it rustles its leaves in the breeze.

Seeker enters the room and walks over to the little stool, his face showing something she has never seen before: exhaustion and worry. He takes his seat and looks around the room at all the Keepers; his eyes make their way around till they stop on her. They stare at each other for a moment, then he looks into the blue flames and begins his story. This time, he holds no book or pages to bring forth images; he takes his hands and waves them over the flames.

As he speaks, the flames dance to the story and its words. "Long ago, in the first age of this world, there the first story was created. A tale about a young man and a young woman and the many adventures they had."

He pauses for a moment and allows the flames to form a man and a woman.

"The man was born of wisdom, and the woman was born of magic. He was the first Seeker, and she was known as WordWeaver." The flamed man remained blue, and the woman turned a brilliant hue of purple.

He continues. "She could enter into the stories that she read, and the ability to write a word upon a page and bring it to life." The flames portrayed the woman pulling a magical staff from a book.

The female flame's color begins to change to a dark shade of purple.

"Over time, the power began to corrupt her. She began to change other stories, weaving them into what she wanted. Pulling great power from the words she wrote on her scrolls with her magical quill." The dark purple flame began to shoot bolts from her fingers toward the blue flame. "Though the Seeker tried, he explained to her that books were a gift and not for us to change. He spoke of their author and how he had given her this power to help her, not for her to transform what she wanted."

He pauses for a moment. "The idea struck her to look into their own story; once she returned, anger and rage had filled her heart. The Seeker had no choice; he had to stop her from rewriting the human's tales. While in hiding, he found the great willow, and it bestowed a new power on him. He used this power to bind the woman into a book that she couldn't escape from. She could no longer harm the characters of the stories we loved."

The flames showed a great battle; the blue flames sucked the purple flames into a small blue fiery book.

"Many years pass, and over those years, the book began to grow darker and darker. The colors of its bindings transformed from a brilliant blue to a dark shade of purple. The willow whispered a prophecy into the Seeker's ears, warning him of the dangers to soon come."

"Will she return?" A young keeper asks.

Lyra observes Seeker's facial expressions closely and notices a hint of fear concealed behind his gentle gaze.

"This is just a story, young one, but we must always be ready. Because most stories are weaved from the truth." He smiles at the child. "Now that is it for our story tonight; I will see you all in the morning." Flames dance across his eyes as his head turns, and his eyes lock on Lyra's.

The ancient dark book lay motionless in the Seeker drawer; silence fills the room. Suddenly, a woman's maniacal laugh echoes through the dark space; the Seeker's desk explodes in a black flame. The silhouette of a woman stands inside the purple smoke that coats the room.

"Oh, it's so good to be back," an evil laugh resonates across the darkened evening.