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Fandom: The Ninth Gate
Summary: Corso reflects.
He wonders later if he’d been waiting for something, something to jolt him out of his neatly ordered world and push him to something new, something to open his eyes, something he’d been waiting for his entire life. If you’d asked him then, he would have said that all he was looking for was a rare tome, its pages worn by the ages, bearing the words of a long gone author whose name was repeated only in the most obscure texts, all contained within a singular cover displaying the exquisite craftsmanship of the printing days of old. His mind wasn’t fixed on any particular book; he’d know it when he saw it.
As it turned out, he didn’t, not on a conscious level at least. The Book of the Nine Gates of the Kingdom of Shadows was, of course, familiar to him. It was after all, one of the rarest and most valuable books in existence. But he had never had any particular interest in it apart from that. The appreciation he felt when he first held Balkan’s copy in his hands was that of a seasoned book dealer toward a valuable book, no more.
Until he started studying it. Then it began, quietly, subtly, to weave its sinuous spell in his mind. With every overturned page, every engraving that tricked his eyes, a little more of the book remained with him. The words spoke directly to him; the figures in the pictures looked fixedly at him, winking their stony eyes. He couldn’t sense it in the clear way he could perceive everything else, but it was there nonetheless, pulling him back to its pages, and every time it became harder and harder to stay away. It’s not until Balkan’s copy is stolen that he realizes how far the books murmurings have engrained themselves in his soul, how much he needs and wants and must have it back and by any means necessary becomes absolutely essential. He gives in willingly, gratefully, more sure than he’s ever been about anything in his life that this is what he has been hungering for, even when he hadn‘t know he was hungering for anything at all. Whether it chose him or he chose it doesn’t matter anymore. There’s only one thing to be done, the only thing that must be done.
The luminous rays of the waking dawn illuminate the picture in his hands as he approaches the castle entrance. The gate opens and he smiles.
Summary: Corso reflects.
He wonders later if he’d been waiting for something, something to jolt him out of his neatly ordered world and push him to something new, something to open his eyes, something he’d been waiting for his entire life. If you’d asked him then, he would have said that all he was looking for was a rare tome, its pages worn by the ages, bearing the words of a long gone author whose name was repeated only in the most obscure texts, all contained within a singular cover displaying the exquisite craftsmanship of the printing days of old. His mind wasn’t fixed on any particular book; he’d know it when he saw it.
As it turned out, he didn’t, not on a conscious level at least. The Book of the Nine Gates of the Kingdom of Shadows was, of course, familiar to him. It was after all, one of the rarest and most valuable books in existence. But he had never had any particular interest in it apart from that. The appreciation he felt when he first held Balkan’s copy in his hands was that of a seasoned book dealer toward a valuable book, no more.
Until he started studying it. Then it began, quietly, subtly, to weave its sinuous spell in his mind. With every overturned page, every engraving that tricked his eyes, a little more of the book remained with him. The words spoke directly to him; the figures in the pictures looked fixedly at him, winking their stony eyes. He couldn’t sense it in the clear way he could perceive everything else, but it was there nonetheless, pulling him back to its pages, and every time it became harder and harder to stay away. It’s not until Balkan’s copy is stolen that he realizes how far the books murmurings have engrained themselves in his soul, how much he needs and wants and must have it back and by any means necessary becomes absolutely essential. He gives in willingly, gratefully, more sure than he’s ever been about anything in his life that this is what he has been hungering for, even when he hadn‘t know he was hungering for anything at all. Whether it chose him or he chose it doesn’t matter anymore. There’s only one thing to be done, the only thing that must be done.
The luminous rays of the waking dawn illuminate the picture in his hands as he approaches the castle entrance. The gate opens and he smiles.
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