chrysanthemum ; lyndis/ghosty ; white elephant

The smell of books is addictive. More so than the tobacco that Pa smokes, or that weird suff that the lumbermen smoke; that stuff which makes their world like a fantasy contained in the pages I own. I'd never touch either of them, even if I asked by a daring knight, or a pirate with his sword angled below my neck. I wanted to drown in the words in this room, the library that Ma and Pa made sure to keep, a catalogue of all their printings.

All the while, the quiet snapping and pops of burning wood, cackles away, a flickering of light orange a natural joy. And the warmth was delightful, almost enough that I could sleep, and place myself in another place, and maybe never wake up again. That'd be the dream, a hopeful dream at that, but none the less out of reach. The final page turn twiddled through my fingers, and my eyes slowed to an almost iced river, - a n d the world watched, a s he looked me in the eye, and replied, "I do."

Placing the book back in the shelf, I feel the current around my feet, and Lumos put his tiny paw up in the air. "We're off to buy some books, want to walk, both of ya?" The two dogs eyes lit up, brighter than seeing leftovers magically appear from the table above them. Their leads attached, I saw the cold winter sunshine outside, and stepped out of the door.

The shop, like it almost always was, empty. Not a single other person around, and the owner sat on a desk, hidden by the shelves of books, a platoon per section, ordered through style, author and talent. I see the door open again, and I hear the two dogs growling. "Lumos! Nox!" I called out, and stick my head out of the door. "Oi, what you barkin about, hm?"