Down and out, and out of luck, we're spinning but the needle's stuck
Rain pattered against the cobbled streets, on rooftops and window sills. It trickled down through gutters and in rivulets down the winding alleyways, staining walls of stone and plaster, wood and paint until they appeared to weep. It soaked through the shoes of anyone foolish or daring enough to venture outside, and dampened the shoulders and crown of a young woman's dark coat until her stark white hair dripped with moisture, despite the upturned hood.
She scraped the mud off her feet before pushing open the door to the cramped little store. In the late afternoon the interior was even darker than she remembered, cast in shadows unmolested by the flickering firelight that once turned this place into a homely scene. A small bell announced her arrival, and as the sound of it reverberated in the stillness, Maea hovered on the threshold. Breathing in the atmosphere, until she could taste memories on her tongue and hear ghosts of the past whisper at the periphery of her vision.
Only slowly did she stir into motion again. Carefully she picked her way deeper into the book store, over carpets that muffled the soft tread of her feet and towards the shelves that lined every wall, filled to overflowing with literature. Old books, new books, books in screaming states of disrepair and works of art that her clumsy fingers would never dare to touch. Over on the counter lay a book halfway into the process of rebinding, and she wondered if her friend had been working on it before he passed away, or whether it was a project undertaken by the new... proprietor.
Curious, she reached out to pick it up, so she could see what it had been about.
She scraped the mud off her feet before pushing open the door to the cramped little store. In the late afternoon the interior was even darker than she remembered, cast in shadows unmolested by the flickering firelight that once turned this place into a homely scene. A small bell announced her arrival, and as the sound of it reverberated in the stillness, Maea hovered on the threshold. Breathing in the atmosphere, until she could taste memories on her tongue and hear ghosts of the past whisper at the periphery of her vision.
Only slowly did she stir into motion again. Carefully she picked her way deeper into the book store, over carpets that muffled the soft tread of her feet and towards the shelves that lined every wall, filled to overflowing with literature. Old books, new books, books in screaming states of disrepair and works of art that her clumsy fingers would never dare to touch. Over on the counter lay a book halfway into the process of rebinding, and she wondered if her friend had been working on it before he passed away, or whether it was a project undertaken by the new... proprietor.
Curious, she reached out to pick it up, so she could see what it had been about.
Maea
