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Aldert Meer had spent months tracking down the location of this library. The books that mentioned it eventually revealed a common region; groundwork through traveling and asking locals got him closer. Now, as sweat dripped off his brow and down his back, he was faced with the fruits of his efforts. A hatch was nested in the ground, surrounded by barely standing stone ruins, uncovered only by his work with a pick and shovel. The wood of the door had been protected by sheets of shale, and was in surprisingly good condition - as was the bronze handle.
With a quick exhale, he knelt down and examined it more closely. The main part was a simple curved cylinder, but the clasp and edges were adorned with naturalistic reliefs. Aldert grasped the loop tightly, pulled, and with a choking creak the hatch was open. Cool air wafted out from the opening, and despite the sweat he felt a chill run down his spine.
At this point, he considered the reality of what he just did. He had been swept up in the endeavor of finding the place, and now it was in front of him: a lost, or maybe hidden, library, referenced in the most obscure occult texts dealing in blood rituals and immortality. The chance that it was real was too exciting to strongly consider the consequences of uncovering it before, but now, looking into the pitch black hole before him, Aldert realized what kind of risk he was taking. He sucked in a breath and moved back. He grabbed his previously discarded shirt and patted himself dry with the linen.
The time to think about unleashing ancient evils was before breaking open the door that possibly sealed them in. It didn't make sense not to finish the task. Aldert scribbled a note about the location, donned a new shirt, picked up his bag, and made his way to the entrance. There was a chance nothing remained in the library, anyway. Time could be unkind to books, much moreso than it was to wood and bronze. He pulled the tie from his hair, ran his hand through the long dark locks, and gingerly took a step on the wooden staircase into the darkness.
A week's worth of documentation and collections had Aldert wondering if the small wagon he commissioned would be enough to carry all his research. The library had proved to be in excellent condition, almost unbelievably so. Citations he had chased for years were now just sitting in front of him, and books whose existence was only rumored by other occult researchers lined the shelves. The initial apprehension he had felt entering the space had quickly dissolved at the realization of what he had found.
Aldert suppressed the niggling thought in the back of his mind, that there was no way for a place like this to simply exist as it was right now. It was almost like it was being actively kept up. And if it was, why was it so hard to find? Why did it seem to have been erased from so many sources and records? At the same time, it had now been a week or so since he entered and set himself up in the main reading area. Surely, if anyone else had access, much less if they were actively maintaining the place, he would have run into them by now. While the library wasn't tiny, it didn't span an immeasurable amount of space. He had professors with personal collections of around the same size.
The thought made him sit up, realizing he hadn't written any correspondence about his discovery yet. The incredible amount of work he could do now had distracted him. He mumbled to himself as he rifled through his things for a suitable paper and his wax kit. A short scuffling noise from behind him made him freeze still. There hadn't been a single sound, not even that of an animal, in the library this entire time; only sounds Aldert himself had caused. He turned slowly, a strange existential terror sinking into him. He jumped to his feet and felt the color drain from his face at the sight before him.
A man stood among the shelves, looking at Aldert patiently. Dark waves of hair framed a long, impossibly pale face, two completely black eyes making contact with Aldert's own brown ones. The man wore a long ornate robe, clearly expensive and well cared for. Aldert realized he was holding his breath, but he couldn't bring himself to move or speak. The man smirked as he approached, his steps almost noiseless. "I've been impressed by your work," his voice was gravelly, as if he hadn't spoken in some time. He took the parchment from Aldert's hand and placed it gently back on the table, "Quite well fleshed out, even before you gained access to my collection."
Aldert swallowed, "Your-"
"Yes. My collection. My library." The man smiled and moved closer.
Aldert tried to regain his composure, and managed through a stutter, "And you are?"
"Isaac Westhuizen," he laughed at the dawning look of realization that crossed Aldert's face.
"But, that doesn't, ah," Aldert tried to back away and bumped into the table. He knew the name from books, but those books were hundreds of years old.
Isaac pressed forward, and trapped Aldert against the table. "You've done all this," with one hand, he steadied the tower of notebooks Aldert had grown over the week. With the other, he pushed the young man's hair behind his ear. "I'm sure it does make sense."
Aldert tried to push the man off of him, but it was like pushing against a boulder. His face flushed and he could feel his ears burning. His heart felt like it was about to burst from his chest, and his head was swimming. It did make sense, yes. He researched vampires, and he found an ancient maintained library of occult secrets - of course there was a vampire tending it. Of course. The vampire's hand gently cupping his face made a similar kind of sense: simultaneously baffling and obvious.
"You're going to learn so much." The vampire whispered into Aldert's ear, then sank fangs deep into his neck. First it hurt, then an intense pleasure spread from the spot. Aldert felt as if he was going to melt, and couldn't help but let out a moan. Isaac chuckled into his throat as he drank deep, supporting Aldert as he began to go limp. It felt like both forever and a second before Aldert's vision went black, only to be shocked back awake by a feeling of ravenous hunger and the taste of blood in his mouth. He expected it to be his own, from some kind of wound, but found himself sucking greedily from the vampire's wrist, swallowing Isaac's blood like it was water after days in the desert. With a tug on his hair, Isaac removed Aldert from his wrist. He grabbed him by the chin and stared deeply into his eyes, "Rest a bit, my childe." Aldert found himself sinking again into that black abyss, albeit more gently this time.