My Dark Secret

The library had always been Isla's sanctuary. The musty scent of aged paper, the gentle rustle of turning pages, and the hushed whispers of patrons seeking knowledge created a symphony that soothed her soul. But lately, something had changed. The true crime section, once just a professional interest, had become an obsession.

She ran her fingers along the spines of books detailing history's most notorious killers, their dark deeds preserved in pristine pages. Each volume was a window into the depths of human depravity, and Isla found herself drawn deeper into their stories with each passing day.

"Just research," she would tell herself, but the voice in her head grew less convincing with each visit. The line between academic curiosity and something more sinister began to blur, like watercolors bleeding into one another on wet paper.

That morning, as she organized the new arrivals, a particular title caught her eye. "The Psychology of Murder: Understanding the Criminal Mind." Her hands trembled slightly as she lifted it from the cart. The weight of it felt significant, as if it held more than just pages and ink.

A patron approached the desk, startling her from her reverie. "Excuse me," the elderly woman smiled, "could you help me find a cookbook?"

Isla's professional mask slipped seamlessly into place. "Of course," she replied with a practiced smile, carefully placing the book aside. But even as she guided the woman toward the culinary section, her thoughts lingered on darker subjects.

Her secret fascination was growing, evolving into something she barely recognized. And deep down, in a place she dared not examine too closely, she wondered if knowledge alone would soon cease to be enough...