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Shiori is an Archiver. That much is certain and known. For decades, she has gathered and obtained knowledge and memories. Bookmarked them and tucked them away in her Archives.
But that doesn't mean that some of them don't haunt her.
Her best friend, struck down by the Gods' very own hand before her, flashes in her mind. Like a thunder clap, her vision whites out. Suddenly, she's standing before them, her vision hazy, her surroundings foggy. She can't stop the tears, and she doesn't try to. She knows what happens next. Clutching the cursed bookmark in her hand, she feels the changes happen before she can see them. Her hair splits down the middle, perfectly monochrome, a striking symbol of her status as an Archiver. Dark brown eyes shift to gold as the darkness encompasses her, and before anything else happens - she screams.
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It feels like she's been struck by lightning. Her entire body jolts with a gasp and she flings herself out of the slumped position she didn't even know she fell asleep in. Gulping down gasps of air, she glances up and slowly takes in her surroundings. She fell asleep in her Archives while working on the preservation of long-forgotten history, typical. Her head throbs with the reminder of her ... Dream? Nightmare? There's a chill deep in her bones when she stands up and brushes herself off, and she knows that she needs to get out of her Archives for a while. Where can she go without bothering the others? She could try to go to the living room, but she's lost track of time and doesn't know who's awake, if anyone. Maybe just go for a walk? The others would certainly want to join her and she needs to be alone right now, for her sake... And possibly everyone else's. With a heavy sigh, she lumbers toward the door of her pocket dimension and gently tears an opening into the fabric of its space and steps out.
Pitch black greets her and she feels her shoulders relax. Then the rest of her body follows, and soon, she's bracing against the wall for support. Her body feels heavy, and uncomfortably so. Stupid dream must've shocked her more than she thought. Small, artificial candles line the hallway and she follows them to her bedroom door, yet stops. She doesn't need to be surrounded by more darkness, but what choice does she have? She can't wake the others, she won't, so she wordlessly pushes her door open and quietly shuts it.
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