Nergui was not entirely sure when or how she had made it to the library, but at some point after waking to this Hell she had fled the bright and cheery room, she had shared with the child that was not
her baby. Ollie had tried to be a comfort, and he had managed to drag her back from that dangerous edge, but she couldn't stay there. Couldn't listen to the soft coos and delighted squeals of that infant.
She'd fled, and she'd made it here. The only place on the island she thought might contain some modicum of peace.
There wasn't any to be had though, not there among the tipped shelves and the damaged books. It was no quiet sanctuary with the smell of dust and old parchment and ink. No quiet corner to hide in as she soaked up decades of written knowledge.
The priestess had picked up a book, still damp, musty and molding, and when she'd opened it it had fallen apart in her hands. The bindings split, the cover tore, and the whole of it slid from trembling fingers. She watched it fall, and as those damaged pages hit the ground she felt the clawing bubble of hysteria beginning to rise in her throat again.
