Curse Breaker - Chapter 1

 

“Slow and easy” Rory murmured under her breath as she balanced the colored lens delicately on the tip of her finger. With her other hand, she gently widened her eye. She couldn't deny how much she despised this little disc, but it was a necessary evil – losing it wasn't an option. She'd lost count of the times these infernal things had slipped through her fingers, only to be discovered days later, hardened on the floor. Every time that happened, it was like watching her money go down the drain, and she couldn't afford that.

With careful precision, she smoothly slid the lens onto her eye and blinked a couple of times, her head tilted slightly back. Once she was certain it was in place, she inspected her reflection in the slightly freckled mirror perched on her makeshift dressing table. Her eye had returned to its intentionally unremarkable dull brown.

Rory took her non-prescription horn-rimmed glasses, giving them a quick wipe before putting them on. A heavy sigh escaped her lips. All these lengths she went to for her disguise, it was almost comical. She gathered her shoulder-length, black-dyed hair into a ponytail, a practiced routine that added to her overall unremarkable appearance. As necessary as this ritual had become over the last five years, Rory was growing weary of it. Tired of the charade, she straightened up and gazed at herself. It was an intentional transformation, turning herself into someone forgettable, someone who didn't attract a second glance.

Rory glanced around her apartment, the sad little room located on the third floor of a building, accessible only by a creaky and narrow stairway. The walls were painted in an off-white color but had been scuffed and scratched so many times that it was difficult to tell what the original color had been. The paint was chipped and peeling in some areas, revealing the rough concrete underneath.

The floors were covered in a faded and worn-out brown carpet that seemed to have seen better days. Her apartment was quite small, with only one room that served as both a bedroom and living space. There was a small kitchenette in the corner that was barely functional. The sink was old and rusty, and the small stove was missing a burner.

The furniture was old and mismatched. The bed was a lumpy mattress that was on a metal frame. There was a small wooden table with a chair. The fabric on the chairs was frayed and torn in places, and the table had deep scratches and dents. The window was small and looked out onto a brick wall, blocking any natural light from entering the room. The bathroom with old tiles was tiny and cramped, with a small shower stall, a sink, and a toilet.

The space she inhabited held little more than a handful of her clothes and a secondhand laptop she had purchased online. Financial constraints had always kept her choices minimal, and her frugal lifestyle allowed her to barely cover her essential expenses. Rory was not one to indulge in extravagances; she found contentment in the simplicity of her existence.

Her modest income merely met her basic needs, and she had become adept at making the most out of what she had. Her priorities were clear – to maintain a quiet and unassuming life, finding solace in the small pleasures that came her way. The confines of her humble abode served as a testament to her resolve to appreciate the simple things, to find value in the everyday.

Luxury had never been a part of Rory's life, nor had she ever yearned for it. Her current living arrangement might even fall below what many would consider standard, yet she held a deep sense of gratitude. The quality of the place was secondary; what truly mattered was that she could afford it. The landlord's lack of curiosity about her past was a blessing, as long as the rent was paid promptly.

Despite the relatively low security of the area, Rory had found solace in her neighbors' indifference. It seemed they were engrossed enough in their own lives to avoid meddling in hers. The transient nature of their interactions meant that most people rarely spared her more than a passing glance, allowing her to maintain her anonymity within the community.

Rory had always been a loner, preferring the company of books and her own thoughts to socialize with others. She found solace in fantasy and magical mythology, often getting lost in the worlds of her favorite novels. If not lost in a book, she would be playing video games, and one of her favorites was Dungeons and Dragons Online. The game allowed her to go on quests, solve complex puzzles, and interact with other players without the pressure of face-to-face communication.

Rory found comfort in the game's abstruse storylines and the challenge of strategizing with other players to defeat mythical creatures. She spent countless hours playing, often losing track of time and forgetting about the outside world. It was a welcome escape from her mundane life. Despite her love for the game, Rory was limited by her low income and outdated computer. She had to make do with what she had, often experiencing glitches and lags in the game. But she didn't mind. The joy she felt from playing was worth any technical difficulties.

Sliding her crossbody bag over her shoulder and tucking her phone into her pocket, Rory approached the door. With a soft click, she unlocked it and gently pushed it open. As the door closed behind her, she instinctively rechecked the lock, a shiver running down her spine. Her gaze darted nervously across the small hallway, yet nothing seemed out of place. Dismissing the uneasy feeling, she silently descended the staircase, her steps cautious and deliberate.

Rory arrived promptly at the library at 8 am and made her way through switching on the lights and turning on the computers. The local library was a well-maintained space that exuded a peaceful and studious atmosphere. The place was well-lit on its own, with large windows letting in natural light. Rows of bookshelves line the walls, housing a vast collection of books, journals, and magazines on various subjects. The shelves were neatly organized and labeled, making it easy to locate specific titles.

Once the library was open, Rory began her task of cataloging new materials, inputting their information into the computer system, assigning them a call number, and placing them on the correct shelves. She worked diligently, ensuring that everything was organized and easily accessible for the library's patrons. Despite the tedious nature of her work, she took solace in the fact that it provided her with enough money to keep a roof over her head and food on the table. She could still remember the days when she had nothing.

The library staff did not bother her, they already knew after years of working with her that she doesn’t socialize. Rory kept to herself, spoke only necessary, it was a habit for so long it had become part of her. Reluctantly, Rory dragged herself to the mandatory meeting with the other staff members after lunchtime. She took a seat at the long wooden table, flanked by her colleagues.

The head librarian, Mr. Jenkins, sat at the head of the table. He was a meek little old man, with thin-rimmed spectacles perched on the edge of his nose, and a few wisps of gray hair sprouting from his balding head. Despite his unassuming appearance, Rory knew that Mr. Jenkins was a keen observer and a shrewd judge of character.

Mr. Jenkins cleared his throat and tapped his pen on the notebook in front of him to begin the meeting, "Alright, folks, let's get this meeting to order," his voice carried a sense of authority tempered with familiarity.

Rory felt her mind start to wander, she had heard it all before - updates on library policies, reminders to keep the shelves organized, and so on. She gazed around the room, taking in the faces of her fellow librarians. There was Mrs. Kim, the stern-faced cataloguer who always seemed to be buried under a mountain of paperwork. Then there was Mr. Martinez, the jovial children's librarian, who had a talent for bringing storybooks to life with his animated readings.

She noticed the archivist, Ms. Patel, already engrossed in her notebook. Ms. Patel was in charge of the library's rare book collection and archives and was always deeply immersed in her work. She was a serious-looking woman, with her hair pulled back in a tight bun and always dressed in formal attire.

“We have a local author joining us next week for a book reading and signing. It's the mystery novel that's been making waves." Mr. Jenkins was said as he flipped through his notes.

Ms. Patel's eyes lit up with interest. "Ah, I've heard about that one. I'll make sure to spread the word to our book club members."

"Speaking of local talents, we're launching a storytelling session every Saturday morning for our young readers. Plus, there's a craft activity planned to follow." Sitting next to Ms. Patel, Mr. Thompson, the reference librarian said. He was a friendly middle-aged man who always had a kind word for everyone. He had a wealth of knowledge and was always ready to help patrons with their research needs.

On the other side of the table was the circulation librarian, Ms. Chang. She was a no-nonsense woman with a quick wit, always ready to handle any difficult situations that might arise with patrons. She raised an eyebrow. "Crafts, huh? I can already see the mess, but it's for a good cause." Laughter rippled through the room at her candid remark.

Mr. Jenkins leaned back, his expression thoughtful. "Let's not forget the digital literacy workshop we're organizing. It's a crucial skill these days."

Rory's attention drew back to Mr. Jenkins. He had been the one who had given her a chance when no one else would. She suspected that he had felt sorry for her when he had seen her shabby appearance and lack of qualifications. She gave a small, affectionate smile to him, and he nodded back at her, his eyes twinkling behind his spectacles.

For the years that Rory had been working at the library, Mr. Jenkins had been a constant source of support and encouragement. He never made her feel insecure, despite her lack of social skills and tendency to get lost in her own thoughts. He was kind and understanding, and he never asked questions when he found her tucked away in a corner, absorbed in a book during working hours.

Rory had committed a heinous crime without realizing it, and she knew that law enforcement agencies would be searching for her. She had arrived at the city with nothing but the clothes on her back and a few dollars in her pocket. A certain incident had forced her to flee the city when she was just eighteen. After months of living on the streets and scavenging for food, the library had offered her the position of assistant librarian, and she was immensely grateful for it.

Rory truly understood the meaning of fear during her nights alone on the harsh streets. Two nights spent huddled beneath a dirty bridge left a deep mark. The darkness was colder than the persistent ache of hunger. But it was the overwhelming terror that gripped her as she crouched against the cold, unfeeling concrete that haunted her most.

Every sense was on high alert, each rustle and passing shadow intensifying her vulnerability. The thought of being exposed to both the elements and the passing glances of strangers sent shivers down her spine. The sounds of the city at night – distant cars, echoing footsteps, and occasional shouts – formed a eerie backdrop to her isolation.

The ground beneath her was damp and emitted a foul smell that filled her nostrils. Her surroundings teemed with the scurrying of rats and roaches. Concealed in the shadows, sleep was a luxury she couldn't afford. Every noise, every movement, seemed like a potential threat, forcing her into a state of restless alertness.

As dawn broke, the cycle of uncertainty persisted. Rory wandered through unfamiliar streets, directionless and adrift. The weight of hopelessness compounded her fears, leaving her feeling profoundly empty. This was a time of not only grappling with the physical challenges of survival, but also navigating the complex landscape of her own emotions.

On the second day, a compassionate woman guided her to a shelter. The place was daunting, filled with individuals of various ages who shared her plight. Rory, with her hair carefully concealed and gaze averted, remained silent in the company of others. Fearful of recognition or drawing any attention, she avoided interactions, especially when counselors and elders approached with offers of help. Starvation and exhaustion had driven her to the refuge, though she remained cautious, maintaining a distance whenever anyone displayed a greater interest in her.

Later, Rory divided her days among three different shelters, seeking the ones that felt safest to her. But by then, any sense of purpose had deserted her, and she found herself sinking into the depths of depression. Life had lost its meaning, reduced to a relentless battle for survival that had shattered her spirit. Each day felt like a never-ending nightmare, and she couldn't fathom a way to escape its clutches.

Amidst this desolation, she stumbled upon the library one day during her aimless wanderings. A "Help Wanted" sign at the front door caught her attention, offering a glimmer of hope in the midst of her despair.

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