Decoding History:
The Invisible Thread
The year is 2055. In a world where power reigns supreme, knowledge is the ultimate weapon, carefully guarded and ruthlessly controlled. But in the shadows, a strange alliance thrives: as underground libraries and sanctuaries for the keepers of forbidden wisdom are formed through covert coalitions.
Thirty years after the Librarian of Congress was fired by a two-line email, the world has lost much of its knowledge.
Into this dangerous landscape steps Eliza, a book whore was raised an orphan, trained as a courtesan, attempts to discover what is hidden in the past, while her present is never stable.
Cloaked in coded messages within books passed through clandestine libraries, this sisterhood seeks to reclaim lost power in a world determined to keep them silent. But in a society built on secrets and surveillance, can the future still be shaped, or will the forces of control crush her rebellion before it even begins?
Trailer A: Historical Vibe
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Trailer B: Mystery Vibe
Reader's Choice
Gentle reader, thank you for coming on this journey through mysteries and marvels, good times and bad. In every timeline there are choices—moments that shift and shape our lives.
Patricia—Tricia Barkley, is at the cusp of making such a decision. This choice is weighty and should not be made alone. Ah, the crossroads--a choice that will shape her future, each path offering its own trials, revelations, and transformations.
And then—the question of companions.
Should she take Abi, Bea, Jenny—all three? If Abi, Bea, and Jenny do not accompany Tricia, where do they go?
• Abigail/Abi with her capacity for forgiveness, and overcoming the untold trails of being raised by an addict could be incredibly nurturing, offering understanding and a gentle influence.
• Beatrix/Bea's steady and unwavering nature might provide a grounding force and practical support. Her sarcasm and strength.
• Jennifer/305/Jenny's optimism and persistent efforts to bring joy could offer a much-needed lightness and joy.
Each would bring a different kind of support, a different kind of perspective. But Tricia must consider—would she be shaped by them, or would she allow the path itself to shape her?
This is not merely a choice of location—it is a choice of self-definition.
So, gentle reader, what wisdom will you offer? Which path will challenge her, nurture her, transform her?
St. Gabriel of Our Lady of Sorrows, Virginia
The Order of Clara Mercy Convent, DC
Bell-View Farms, Pennsylvania
St. Gabriel of Our Lady of Sorrows, Virginia, rises like a monument to curated privilege, its manicured lawns and soaring windows reflecting a legacy of selective excellence. Within its walls, arched sunlit classrooms and reverent libraries blend modern functionality with old-world charm. The air carries whispers of floor polish, linen, and aged leather—signaling tradition stitched into every hallway.
Presiding over this composed order is Headmistress Janet, her polished warmth and tweed-clad precision embodying the school’s ethos. She offers visitors a tailored tour with well-rehearsed charm, her firm handshake and practiced cadence more about presentation than intimacy. Yet beneath the glossy brochure experience, subtle divides begin to show: dormitories split between indulgence and efficiency, privacy exchanged for institutional practicality.
What mysteries await in the classrooms for the elites pampered princesses able to pay for a few more years of freedom for their daughters?
The Order of Clara Mercy Convent rests quietly amid the noise of the D.C. landscape, its colonial brick façade softened by moss and memory. A place of solace, solitude, and silence surrounding it—a silence that seems cultivated over centuries. Within, the Convent’s corridors shimmer with fractured light from stained-glass windows, casting ruby and amber halos across cool flagstone and weathered saints who watch with carved compassion. The space resists urgency. It breathes in reflection.
Presiding with grace and grounded wisdom is the Abbess, her voice low and resonant, her presence more sacrament than authority. A sanctum of sunlit classrooms, simple dormitories, and a chapel where artificial flame meets ancient faith. The rooms are spare but warm, offering sanctuary without indulgence—spaces where discernment is planted gently. A single flower at the foot of each bunk.
The Abbess’s words—“a place for the lost to be found”—echo not as command, but as truth long withheld.
Bell-View Farms, Pennsylvania—less a facility, more a time pocket with edges softened by hard work and unspoken stories. Corrugated steel slats filter in unforgiving light, machinery hums a measured rhythm and footsteps mark a choreography of purpose.
Georgette and Marty Washington—the owners, the only names used here. The numbering system, inherited from a long-retired internal code, is worn like legacy—never questioned, rarely explained. It marks placement, belonging, history. The numbers mark your room, your cottage, your position. The dorm rooms echo this pattern: modest but self-contained, each with a kitchenette, a private bath, and the quiet dignity of utility. The factory, too, shares this script: hand-labeled cups at water stations, shared benches worn smooth by years of labor.
Bell-View Farms isn’t simple. Its truths are layered in steel and sisterhood—and not all of them are meant to be spoken aloud. A place where secrets have secrets.
Voting
Evolution of the Cover
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