@imortallis
the library was a mix of suffocating and homely. pages upon pages of worlds and lives. but no one will ever truly know the author or the muse. these pages were planned, only secrets revealed that were allowed and thoughts only given because they wanted them revealed. but there are layers within every person, depths that not even a lover would ever get to see. people live in fear of what they are or what they could be. some of them do not even know themselves. there's no a person walking this earth that has ever known francesco truly. apart from his very first wife, but the version of francesco that married her has be lost to time for many centuries now. each new version of himself is both an echo of the last and the death of the former. he will always and completely live within the unknown to this world. even to isla. â you wouldn't. â his whisper holds slight sarcasm within the vowels but he'd deny it. his gaze flicks from books and toward the other, amber hues focusing in. â but these books only tell parts of the stories they want you to know. they never tell you everything. â he reaches out, fingers brushing along spines. â they always keep their secrets secret. therefore - unknown. â
ððð ððððð ððððððð ðððð ðððð ðð ðððððððð ððð ðððððððð. ã €Or decide if she wanted to reply at all. Words held weight and it sounded like Isla and Francesco had different opinions on the definition of known. To some it was simply knowledge of another person, superficially, while Francesco took it to a much deeper space. From what he was saying, Isla took it to mean he saw being unknown or known relying heavily on those deeper, messier levels. And in that sense he was right, no one would be truly known if that required someone else to know every aching desire, every ugly, malformed secret, and that sounded like it'd be incredibly lonely. She didn't think anyone would be that forthcoming with everything.
"You make it sound like the only way someone can be known is if they skin themselves alive and let everyone poke around inside," said Isla. She watched the books Francesco's touch lingered absently wondering if they were favorites of his. If she lived or worked in a place like this she'd read everything twice and probably still never be satisfied. "If sharing all your secrets and keeping nothing for yourself is being unknown then yes, everyone is unknown but-- I think you can be known while keeping your secrets," Isla lifted the pages to her nose, eyes sparkling impishly as she gave a slow inhale, soaking up the smell of old ink and well worn paper. "Secrets are a way to ensure you don't lose yourself, once you give those away you can never get them back. But," she replaced the book her head tilting slightly in thought, "there are also those who don't even know themselves, those are the people who are utterly unknown."
