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010mikova · 7 months ago

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Chapter One: The Hollow Brew

DISCLAIMER!!!!!

This is a fictional work and is not intended to represent any real persons, places, or events. All characters, organizations, and locations in this story are purely a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or individuals is entirely coincidental.

Ravenwood was a town steeped in perpetual twilight. The sun never fully committed to rising, leaving the streets bathed in a muted glow that seemed to stretch endlessly between dusk and dawn. The skies above were always a faint purple hue, as though the world itself had forgotten the warmth of midday. Its cobblestone paths, uneven and cracked with age, twisted through the town like veins, leading both locals and travelers alike in endless loops. The town’s peculiar layout was whispered to be the result of some ancient design, though no one could quite agree on its purpose. Some said it was a spell gone wrong, others believed it was the work of a long-forgotten architect who had a penchant for confusion. Whatever the cause, Ravenwood’s streets had a way of pulling you in and never quite letting you go.

The town’s buildings, old and weathered, leaned toward one another, as if they were in constant conversation. They were clustered in odd configurations, their faded paint and cracked stone facades telling stories of a time long past. Most people who came to Ravenwood for the first time found themselves disoriented, unable to remember the way they had come or how to get back. It was as though the town had a mind of its own, one that didn’t particularly care for visitors.

At the corner of Main Street, nestled between a derelict bookshop with windows that had not seen light in years and an abandoned tailor’s whose faded sign still swayed in the wind, stood The Hollow Brew. It was one of Ravenwood’s oldest establishments, its history as murky as the strong black coffee it served. The café’s stone façade was draped in thick ivy, the green tendrils creeping up toward a roof patched with moss. The windows, though perpetually fogged, emitted a golden glow that spilled onto the street like a warm invitation. For those wandering the town’s labyrinthine streets, The Hollow Brew offered a sense of refuge—a place to escape the endless twilight and the feeling that the world outside was just a little too distant.

Clara had been working at the café for three months, though it felt both longer and shorter than that, as if time itself moved differently within its walls. The job was ordinary enough: taking orders, pulling espresso shots, cleaning tables, but there was an odd rhythm to the place that made every day feel like a repeat of the last. The tasks never seemed to change, yet the air felt heavier with each passing moment, as though the café itself was holding its breath, waiting for something. Perhaps it was the unspoken rules of the place—the unhurried pace of life that felt both comforting and suffocating at the same time. In Ravenwood, nothing seemed to hurry, not even the hands of the clock.

From the moment she first stepped through the café’s heavy oak door, Clara had felt a distinct sensation that the place was hiding something, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She didn’t know if it was the quiet murmurs of the regulars, the way they always sat in the same spots, or the constant low hum of the place that made her feel as though she were caught in some kind of loop. It wasn’t that she felt threatened, but there was a certain dissonance in the way time seemed to stretch out here, as though the café existed outside the usual rules of the world.

She’d quickly learned that the café had its own peculiarities. The old clock above the register never seemed to tick in rhythm. Its hands moved in fits and starts, jerking forward or backward at random intervals, as though it had forgotten the passage of time altogether. The storeroom in the back was colder than the rest of the café, even on the hottest days of summer. The chill was so persistent that Clara often wore a sweater, even though the air outside was sweltering. She had tried to rationalize it, attributing it to old pipes or a malfunctioning air conditioner, but deep down, she knew it wasn’t quite that simple.

And then there were the whispers. It started slowly, just a faint murmur in the background during the quieter hours of the morning, when the café was nearly empty and the sun hadn’t quite managed to rise. At first, Clara thought it was just the sound of old pipes, or the wind pushing through the cracks in the building. But the more she listened, the more she was convinced that there were voices, low and indistinct, coming from somewhere deep within the walls. She tried to ignore it, telling herself that it was nothing, but the sensation of being watched, of hearing voices that shouldn’t be there, never quite left her.

“Clara, you’re daydreaming again,” Elias’s voice broke through her thoughts, sharp and direct. He stood a few feet away, holding a tray of dirty mugs, his gaze fixed on her with an intensity that made her feel like she had been caught in the act of something.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, grabbing the tray and heading for the sink.

“Don’t apologize,” he said, his tone softer than usual. “Just… stay focused.”

Clara paused for a moment, glancing over her shoulder at him. For a split second, she thought she saw something in his expression—concern, maybe, or a fleeting softness. But as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by his usual impassive stare. He didn’t look at her with kindness or warmth, but there was something in the way his eyes lingered on her, as if he were watching for something—waiting for her to do something, to prove herself. She couldn’t tell if it was frustration or something else entirely.

Elias was another mystery of The Hollow Brew. He was cold, distant, and often dismissive, but there was something about him that intrigued Clara. He had an old-fashioned, almost aristocratic look about him, with his silver-white hair, sharp gray eyes, and angular features. He moved with an eerie grace, as though he was more of a shadow than a man. His silence was often more unsettling than any words he might have spoken. He didn’t speak much, and when he did, his words were often cutting, sharp, like blades that sliced through the air with a precision that left no room for interpretation.

“Your latte art looks like a crime scene,” he remarked one morning, his voice as cold as the fog outside.

Clara scowled, snatching a dishcloth to wipe the counter. “Maybe because I have a manager who just hovers and criticizes instead of teaching,” she shot back, her voice thick with frustration.

Elias smirked, leaning lazily against the counter. “If I did all the work for you, you’d never learn. You’re welcome.”

Clara rolled her eyes and turned back to the espresso machine, muttering under her breath. Despite her irritation, she couldn’t deny there was something about Elias that kept her attention. Beneath his icy exterior, there was something more—a hidden depth that she couldn’t quite understand. She would catch fleeting glimpses of it: the softening of his gaze when he thought no one was looking, the way his shoulders seemed to sag when he thought he was alone. There was a weariness to him, something heavy that seemed to cling to his every movement. She had no idea what it was, but it was always there, lingering just beneath the surface.

The Hollow Brew, for all its charm, seemed to echo Elias’s aura. There was something about the place that felt both timeless and trapped in time, as if it existed in a state of suspended animation. The same regulars came in each day, ordering the same drinks, sitting in the same seats. They never strayed from their routines, never deviated from the script. Clara had tried to strike up casual conversations with them, but their responses were always polite, brief, and superficial. There was a rhythm to their lives, a rhythm that seemed to pulse through the very walls of The Hollow Brew.

Clara didn’t know what it was about this place that unsettled her. She wasn’t sure if it was the constant sense of repetition, the way everything seemed to stay the same no matter how much time passed, or if it was something more. It wasn’t just the customers, or Elias, or the strange way time seemed to bend in the café. It was the feeling that she was part of something bigger, something that she didn’t quite understand. She had come to Ravenwood to escape the chaos of her past, but now, in The Hollow Brew, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the town—and the café—were becoming a part of her in ways she didn’t want.

The longer she stayed, the more she felt herself being drawn into its orbit, the more she felt the pull of Ravenwood’s strange rhythm. She didn’t know if it was the town, the café, or Elias himself, but something about Ravenwood was slowly changing her. And though she couldn’t yet say how or why, she knew that she was no longer the same person who had walked into The Hollow Brew three months ago. Something was shifting inside her, and she couldn’t help but wonder what it meant for her future.

#hidden secrets #OCS #book #book lovers #secrets #oooo I can write again #I’m going insane #i’m just rambling #i wish it was me #meow meow

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