The simple fact is, however, that Emperor Constantine changed the face of Christianity for the worser-- 

Worser isn't a word, Gwen.

...for the worst. 

Gah. There's got to be a less offensive way to put that. Why did I have to get this subject for my research paper? Why? 

He changed it... he made it less... he fused it with pagan rituals... none of that sounds nice!

Whatever. I don't care. Beyond that, even,  I continue, my fingers flying over the keys of my laptop, Constantine committed the worst kind of religious sanctimony: he added false and pagan rituals to Christian traditions, making them appear to be acceptable by God when in fact, they were not. By so doing he misled the people of his era and those traditions are still misleading them today. 

I sit back with a satisfied, tired sigh, rubbing my right shoulder to get some of the tension out of it. I'd better get a really good grade on this stupid paper. I pick up my phone, look at the little white screen to see that it's 6:45 PM.

Something nags at the back of my mind, as if there's something I'm forgetting... but it's elusive when I try to discover it so with a shake of my head, I ignore the feeling. I'm almost done with this paper, and then I need to put back all these books, and then I can go home and sleep.

Oh, sweet sleep. I--

"I'm not Snow White

But I'm lost inside this forest.

I'm not Red Riding Hood,

But I think the wolves have got me,

Don't--"

I jump ten feet in the air when the phone in my hand suddenly starts singing "Wonderland" at me. The song has only been my ringtone for a couple of days so it takes me a second to realize someone is calling me.

I swipe my finger across the screen, answering the call, even as I ignore the dirty looks shot at me by the other people in this section of the library. "Hello?" I say, cautiously since I didn't bother to check the caller ID.

"Where are you?" Stacy's high pitched voice comes through the tinny speakers and I wince. "I'm at the library, Stacy..." I say, as if it's obvious. "I'm still working on that paper remember?"

"Again? You know you can just do research online, Gwen, you're so stupid sometimes."

I frown, tapping my goth-black fingernails against the table in irritation. "I like doing it this way. It gets me extra credit, too." I only add the last part to make her stop complaining; I don't actually care about the grade. 

A weird feeling settles in my gut, like a spider's crawling around in there, making a web. It's almost like deja vu but that's ridiculous, right? Maybe not so much, though. Stacy and I have the same conversations a lot. The same subjects. The same idiocy and nagging over and over again.

I sigh, and the sound is echoed by my older sister as she mutters, "Whatever. Are you coming?"

I frown again. Coming? Did I forget something again? Argh, my stupid brain, why can't I remember...

"You forgot, didn't you?"

"No." I say, automatically. "I just haven't remembered it yet."

Stacy lets out a small scream of frustration. "Dinner? Tonight at seven? Our once-a-month thing?"

I blink. "Is it Friday already?"

"Yes, Gwen! Yes it is!"

"Oh. Sorry." 

"You are the most impossible sister ever. Get over here. Now!"

"Listen about that, I really do need to study..." I trail off at her irritated tongue-clicking. "This is not negotiable Gwendolyn. We are doing this. Stop trying to ruin it!" And then she hangs up on me.

So I'm left sitting in the Library of Congress, my almost-finished research paper calling to me and like twenty books to put back in their various shelves before I can leave. Of course, Stacy doesn't care about that. If I don't show up on her doorstep in twenty minutes, she'll start rage-calling me until she's used up all her minutes.

And then she'll use her boyfriend's phone.

Quickly, before I can feel guilty, I turn off my phone. Now, to put these books away. Oh joy. It took me long enough just to find them all. The Library of Congress is huge, and I'm not looking forward to this. With a soft groan, I slide my laptop into its case and swing it over my shoulders, then gather the books into my arms.

They're heavy, stacked so high that I can't see past them, but I tread carefully toward the winding, maze-like shelves anyway. The process takes far longer that it should, mostly because I have to keep wandering around, looking for the right alphabetical place for the books, but an hour later I'm sliding the last one onto its shelf with a relieved sigh.

My arms ache and my shoulders burn and even my feet hurt, and I'm really starting to regret my decision to do research the old-fashioned way. I've got every one of these books at my fingertips via the internet, why do I put myself through this?

The answer is simple of course; it's because I love the library. The smell of books, the soft lighting, the hushed whispers, the cool air against my skin and all the stories--so many stories--that I have yet to lose myself inside.

I turn away from the stack with a soft smile, and stop. A minute ago, I'd have sworn I was in a hallway between two S  stacks. Now, there's another shelf where the open air used to be. What?

That's impossible. I turn in a slow circle, only to find that the same is true on the other side--where there was a hallway, there is now a stack, and I'm surrounded by four shelves that curve together like the walls of a tower. And to my left, is that dust on this shelf? This is the Library of Congress.

There's never dust. That's ridiculous.

I reach out, and holy stars there is so much dust it's like a giant dust mote, just sitting there needing to be cleaned up. Not that I'm going to clean it.

I don't clean.

I brush my fingers against it, and that's when things get strange.

Well, stranger.

The moment I touch the shelf, everything changes. It's like I blink, and I'm back where I started, in the long hallway between two S stacks. But there's a book in my hands that wasn't there before.

It's huge, the size of one of those law books you see on judge platforms in movies, and very, very worn. Its leather cover is cracked and buckled in some places, and the pages are yellow and thick with age. Embossed atop its surface in ornate silver lettering is its title: "The Book of Unhappy Endings".

I can only gape, staring down at this strange, ancient tome in my hands. What's with the title? How cliche is that, I mean, what does it even mean?

I move to set it back on the shelf, but... something stops me. It's like a little voice at the back of my head, like when you're watching a horror film and the main character is going to open the closet, and you're screaming at them not to open the closet but they do it anyway... it's like that.

All over my body.

A feeling of anticipation, my heart beating faster, my palms getting sweaty against the worn leather cover. Also, the sense of deja vu is back in full force, curling through my stomach and pressing at the back of my mind. I feel like I've been here before.

There's something weird about this place, about this moment.

There's something weird about this book.

Something different, maybe even something magical.

I look around, frowning at the normal, dust-free stacks. Then I look back down at the book, trace my fingers over its cover. There's something strange going on here, but it's almost like there's a curtain in my head and it's been dropped down, closed, keeping me from really caring that this shouldn't be possible.

I just know that it is. 

And I know that this book is mine.