Withering leaves (Open)

[METHUSELAH BRECKENRIDGE]

"No, wait! Please come back!"

Screams pierced the serenity of the rising morning, as well as the storm of a stampede that erupted from the library. The rickety old building usually known for its quiet atmosphere was in a state of chaos as numerous oddities appeared to be distressed by an outside force... Or rather inside. As the oddities burst out, a trail of vines and ivy seemed to follow them a few meters out of the door. After the initial scare in the few seconds following, the scene once more fell eerily still. In those few seconds the once occupied library had gone vacant... With the exception of one person.

Past the rose-thorn covered oak doors revealed an interior most peculiar. It almost appeared as if the two-story library hadn't been occupied for years, judging by the jungle that seemed to overtake it. The shelves, banisters, staircases and tables... Everything was covered with some form of exotic plant life. A few saplings of baobab and acacia trees started to grow between the floor boards along with fungi. Ferns of all sorts grew in the corners. The peculiar thing was the fact that every plant seemed to connect through hairline roots that extended up to the ceiling. Here, vines that could entertain the likes of Tarzan connected these miniature lines, cumulating to an area above a table in the back. Suspending from this table about seven or so feet from the ground was a figure suspending by the ankle, swinging to and fro.

The figure's face was clumsily obscured by a baby pink dress flipped upside down. Lucky for the unfortunate soul, nothing under was revealed due to the presence of clean white tights, torn around the right foot by the vine growing around it. The dress' short sleeves hung uselessly downwards, the blood in the figure rushing to the fingertips covered by white gloves. Long, ringlet-curly hair draped downwards, though upon closer inspection the hair was a wig. The large red bow in it was about to fall out, though obviously this wasn't the person's main issue.

Abandoned in the library, the figure was helpless to what fate had cruelly given to it. What was once going to be a quiet morning of studying went to absolute hell. And now? Everyone was terrified and had fled him. Not only was the conviction of the feeling of loneliness, but now there was the rush of blood to the head. What could be done?

"Can someone... Please, anybody out there! I need some assistance! Oh bother..." A voice rang out, neutral of any sort of distinguishable gender. The British call of distress ultimately ended in a defeated whimper. "Please..."