THE GHOST IN THE SHELL \\
Aamu's thick braid is hanging forward over one shoulder, and he stops with his hand raised towards the doorknob. Darkness is settling comfortably along and between the buildings, the chill starting to bite cheeks and chasing people inside. He can easily make out the dry, grinding noise of feet against hard-packed snow.
What does a bookstore trapped in time sell? He doesn't doubt there's more, now, with the ability to stock up from Torchline and Halo, but before that—were there bits and pieces left from another time? Or nothing? What does isolated and abandoned authors write during three hundred years?
He's curious, he'll admit it, but acquiring books isn't his main reason for coming here.
Aamu nudges the door open and slips inside, quiet out of habit. He blinks in the candlelight, studies the shelves upon shelves of books taking up all space in the narrow store. It's cosy, at least. Easy to see why someone would enjoy having this place. And—guiltily—Aamu immediately looks around for that big, fluffy cat.
What does a bookstore trapped in time sell? He doesn't doubt there's more, now, with the ability to stock up from Torchline and Halo, but before that—were there bits and pieces left from another time? Or nothing? What does isolated and abandoned authors write during three hundred years?
He's curious, he'll admit it, but acquiring books isn't his main reason for coming here.
Aamu nudges the door open and slips inside, quiet out of habit. He blinks in the candlelight, studies the shelves upon shelves of books taking up all space in the narrow store. It's cosy, at least. Easy to see why someone would enjoy having this place. And—guiltily—Aamu immediately looks around for that big, fluffy cat.
