The Library of Lost Voices

Chapter 1: The Girl Who Didn’t Speak

I haven’t uttered a word since the accident five years ago. Not when my parents divorced. Not when my best friend moved away. The doctors called it "selective mutism," but I knew the truth—my voice hadn’t been lost. It had been taken.

That’s why I spent every afternoon in the back corner of Hartwood Library, where the oldest books smelled of dust and forgotten stories. Nobody looked for me there. Nobody ever came to Row 13.

Until today.

Chapter 2: The Book That Breathed

It started with a whisper.

Not a metaphorical one—an actual, warm breath against my neck as I reshelved Botany of the Andes. I spun around to find the aisle empty... except for one book lying face-down on the floor.

"Whispers of the Voiceless", the gold-lettered spine read.

When I touched it, the cover shuddered under my fingers like a living thing.

Chapter 3: The First Voice

The book fell open to page 47. A man’s voice—rich and trembling—rose from the paper:

"—if anyone finds this, tell Maria I didn’t jump. The bridge rail was—”

The words ended abruptly. A rust-colored stain bled across the page. My throat tightened. I knew that stain. I’d seen it on hospital gauze.

Blood.

Flipping pages revealed more voices:

A woman singing a lullaby in French (last note cut off by a scream)

A child reciting numbers (stopping at *"4-9-2-1—oh no, he’s here—”*)

These weren’t stories. They were last words. Stolen. Trapped.

Chapter 4: The Librarian’s Warning

Old Mr. Fitzpatrick found me there, pale as the pages.

"Ah," he sighed, adjusting his glasses. "You’ve found the Vox Libri. I’d hoped... well, no matter." He explained in hushed tones:

The library was built on crossroads where lost things gather—umbrellas, gloves, voices. The books collected them like rainwater.

"But that one," he pointed to Whispers, "is different. It doesn’t collect. It steals."

My fingers flew to my throat.

The old man nodded grimly. "Yes, girl. Your voice is in there."

Chapter 5: The Bargain

To get my voice back, I had to trade.

"One complete story," Fitzpatrick said. "Not a stolen fragment. A tale willingly given."

But who would sacrifice their voice for mine?

That’s when I noticed the newest addition to the shelf—a slim volume titled "Clara" (my name pulsing like a heartbeat). Inside, my own handwriting:

"The day of the accident, I wasn’t alone on that road—”

The memory hit like lightning: headlights swerving, a stranger’s hand shoving me clear, their scream as the truck—

I had to finish the story.

Epilogue: The Last Page

They say Hartwood Library has the most attentive new assistant—a girl who really listens to patrons’ stories. Sometimes, when I shelve books in Row 13, I swear I hear faint gratitude in the rustling pages.

As for Whispers of the Voiceless? It’s still there... but now it ends with a new chapter:

"The voice I gave was freely offered. The life I took was freely saved. Balance restored."

And if occasionally, late at night, the library echoes with a laugh that sounds exactly like mine?

Well. Some stories are better left heard.

Engagement Hook:

"Some books whisper. This one screamed. 📖 A mute girl discovers a library where voices are stolen... and finds her own trapped inside. #BookMagic #Unputdownable"

Original magic system – Living books that trap voices

Mystery + emotional payoff – Solving her own accident

Twist on sacrifice – Giving voice to save another

Bookish atmosphere – Bibliophiles will adore the setting