3A. Biblioplex Mysteries

I would suggest A Touch of Twilight Silk Its about a noble fae heir who binds himself to a mortal illusionist in a pact that blurs love, identity, and reality.

Oh hi Dorian. Kiraen has very flushed cheeks.

Well there was an incident, but I think we have it under control, right Marlena?
Perhaps Callador knows something by now. He was working on the wards.

He blushes at the overheard description of what might be a lurid tale of ribald adventure.

"Yes, Callador appears to be on top of things. He referred to a backlash of some sort, and having to reroute the wards."

"A Touch of Twilight Silk... Noted. Sounds lovely. I do enjoy a good tale of romance." Marlena writes it down in her own journal.

"Yes, all under control!" She says a little too fast, looking rather guilty. "I'm afraid that backlash was my doing, but I don't expect to cause any more trouble. Why don't we return to Callador and see what we can do to help? I can hardly just sit here while he fixes my mess."

Kiraen was the first to notice it. Her eyes, sharper than most in low light, caught the glint of something that shouldn’t be there—a shimmer between the shelves just beyond Marlena’s shoulder. It moved with a kind of twitchy, unnatural rhythm, almost as if its limbs bent in ways that defied anatomy.

She narrowed her eyes.

"Marl… don’t make any sudden movements," she murmured, slowly raising a hand to indicate stillness. "There’s something watching us."

Marlena blinked. "What—?"

And then it hissed.

From between the cracked bindings of an overturned shelf, a creature unfurled like a slinking shadow. Barely two feet tall, with leathery crimson skin and wings that looked more like shredded parchment than flesh, the imp crawled into view. Its yellow eyes glowed faintly in the dimness, and its grin stretched too wide, too many teeth for something that small. A faint trace of sulfur wafted in the air behind it, carried on the flick of its barbed tail.

It perched atop a half-burned volume of Illusions and Instincts, claws tapping on the cover. Watching. Waiting.

"Tutela!" Dorian exclaims unnecessarily, other than to explain to the others what he attempts. Which is to form a barrier between them and the imp.

He wonders if this is some fiend sent by his tormentor, but it seems wrong somehow.

She slowly turns to face the imp. Her green eyes go wide with fear. "A-An imp...!? Here? Why?" Marlena backs off slowly as she pulls her Decayer off her belt, but she doesn't aim it yet, afraid that such a motion would set the creature off. She quickly wracks her mind for information she may have picked up regarding imps.

Results in my next post.

The shimmer of Dorian’s magic surged to life in front of them, and a rippling barrier expanded like a soap bubble of glimmering blue light, settling between them and the imp. The barrier hummed with protective energy—faint, but present.

The imp hissed, flinching back as the barrier snapped into place, then leered with renewed curiosity, its claws drumming on the fallen book like it was amused.

---

Marlena’s mind spun through what she’d read:

Imps—minor fiends, commonly used as familiars or spies by warlocks and demons. Capable of turning invisible, shapeshifting into small animals, and usually aligned with trickery or chaos. They’re opportunists, more likely to observe and scheme than outright attack unless cornered. They love fear. Feed on it.

---

Meanwhile, Kiraen’s eyes scanned the creature sharply, searching for inconsistencies: a shifting shadow, an outline that didn’t hold, any signs of glamor or trickery. But what she saw made her grip tighten on her stiletto wand.

No shimmer. No blur. The shadow lined up with the lanterns, dull as they were. Its body had weight. Its breathing stirred dust on the pages beneath its perch. The scent was real, acrid and sulfurous. This was no illusion.

She let out a quiet breath. "It’s real."

The imp leaned forward, pressing a claw to the barrier, where it sizzled softly. Its voice rasped, more curious than hostile.

"You broke the wards, little green-eyed girl... You cracked the door. So many secrets, so many little lies... and so many open doors. Shall I stay awhile?"

Show no fear.

Marlena steps out from behind Kiraen and leans in to meet the imp's gaze through the barrier. She tries to project confidence and mask her fear.

"You can, if you want. Though I suspect you'll get bored here, little one. It's just books, books and more books. My idea of heaven, really, but that might not be the case for you. The assistant librarian will have the ward back up shortly, so why don't you fly back to your master before you get trapped in here? Can't imagine you'd like that."

Dorian's eyes go wide but he knows better than to break a feint. He nods at the imp, and says, "Yeah." He concentrates on holding the shield.

The imp claws skittered across the surface of Dorian’s shimmering ward, testing it again with a curious prod. Tiny arcs of energy sparked at the contact, but it didn’t recoil this time. Instead, it leaned in until its leathery nose was nearly pressed against the barrier, grin stretching far too wide for its face.

"Oh no," it purred, voice curling like smoke. "My master sits fat and sullen in his Hell, glutted on the screams of oath-breakers. He doesn’t even know I’m gone. I slipped through the crack when the pretty green one—" it cast Marlena a slow, oily wink "—unwound the nice tidy stitches in this little tower of whispers. I was just going to read a book." It gave a theatrical sigh, tail twitching behind it like a metronome. "But now you’ve made it better."

It turned its gaze lazily between them, locking briefly with Dorian. "You’re sweating," it said with amusement. Then to Kiraen: "And you drew a line on your blade. Why? So you’ll know how far to bury it before you panic?"

Its eyes glimmered. "You're afraid. All of you. I can smell it. The fear. The potential. I love potential."

The imp sniffed the air again and grinned broader, crouching low like it was about to pounce—testing their nerves, their resolve, and perhaps their fear of escalation.

"Make me leave," it whispered.

Dorian had been in Dimitar situations as the imp, seemingly having the upper hand in a confrontation even if house goal is only a rude sort of entertainment. That is, pushing someone to act in a certain way.

"Mister imp, your master sounds lovely, just lovely. I'm sure that you would find conversation with us more entertaining than a dusty book or fisticuffs. What say you?"

"Mmm… Flattery and an invitation to parley?" it drawled, licking a fang with a forked tongue. "You’ve got better manners than most mages I’ve met in the mortal stacks."

It glanced at the ward with a raised brow ridge, then casually sat down on a crooked shelf, tail curling around another book.

"Very well, boy with the charming voice. Talk, if you like. Impress me. I’m all ears—and claws—and teeth, of course, but mostly ears for now."

Dorian feels the thrill, his soul likely on the line, but given what he'd done to it, is it even worth much anymore?

He lets hiss mind wander and then asks, "A crafty being you are, to escape your masters hell to come here to read books. In your secret forbidden musings, have you heard of a nasty tasty bit of magic called the 'Hollow Quill Incident'?"

"Ohhh, now you’ve got my attention, my boy," it purred. "The Hollow Quill... now that was a delightfully wicked affair."

Its tail lashed behind it like a cat’s, excitement barely contained.

"Faculty going rogue, Dominatio magic running wild, memories shredded like parchment in a storm… one of your professors tried to pin it all on a summoned construct, as I recall. Poor thing just wanted to write poetry." The imp snorted.

"I wasn’t there, mind you. But word of it drips through the cracks between realms, like ink through vellum." It tapped its temple. "It’s become a bit of a bedtime story down in the Bleak Archives. ‘Don’t let the mortal mages get bored or they’ll start rewriting your soul,’ we say."

It turned its gaze sharply back to Dorian. "Why do you want to know about it? Thinking of trying to do it yourself? I do love a scandal."

Marlena swallows thickly and falls silent, but a certain thing the imp says ends up catching her attention, so she can't help but speak up.

"The Bleak Archives? What is that? Do you mean to say there's more to the Biblioplex?" She asks, thoroughly intrigued despite her fear. She realizes she's getting ahead of herself, so she tries to employ flattery as Dorian did. "Oh, um... If you could spare a bit of your knowledge to this humble mortal, that would be so kind of you. I'm sorry we got off on the wrong foot."

Dorian presses further. "All the secrets will be mine someday. This sort of magic is exactly what I'd love to learn here. What better secret than one no one knows you know? The chaos I could cause with that." His eyes go blank, living the delicious thoughts.

Of course, it is a ruse of sorts. He hopes that his allies don't call him out in front of the twisted being, it likely wouldn't take kindly to being played so clumsily. Of course, that would be one way out of this impasse.

"What I wouldn't give to learn who is this expert magician."

The imp raises a spindly brow ridge and gives Marlena a slow, theatrical blink. Its leathery wings flex slightly, and then it leans in as if to share a delicious secret.

"Oho... what’s this? Polite and curious? My favorite kind of mortal." It clasps its little clawed hands together as if genuinely touched. "Yes, sweet little sapling, the Bleak Archives. Not part of your Biblioplex, oh no no no. But a place like it, in a sense—deep in the folds of the Lower Realms. A library of forbidden memories, truths no tongue dares to speak, and histories that even time itself choked on."

It grinned wider, clearly pleased with the effect of its words.

"Some say it was built by a forgotten god of knowledge. Others say it’s just what happens when too many secrets die in the same place." It winks at Marlena.

"But I hear echoes of your Biblioplex in its walls sometimes. And maybe… I hear echoes of it here, as well..."

Its gaze sharpens.

"Wouldn’t it be curious if the two were linked somehow? Hmm?"

Then it tilts its head with mock innocence. "But perhaps I’ve said too much. I’m just a poor runaway imp, after all. What do I know?"