(Sorry this one was late. I had a bit of a week and didn’t remember to write until I was too busy to get anything done on time.)
Amelia never particularly enjoyed riding the tube. It was dark and crowded and far too difficult to get anywhere with a loaded suitcase. She did enjoy the Charing Cross Library, however, and the tube was the fastest and arguably easiest way to get there from her house. The bus was far too easy to lose track of oneself on with the passing scenery and quiet radio.
Finally, Charing Cross Station. Amelia wasted no time hanging about the underground and went straight for the surface, taking the familiar path to the library. There was an air of calm inside, settled gently over the room like a fluffy blanket. It smelled like old sealing glue and wood. Perfect.
The familiar shelves stood tall as Amelia wound her way around them. There was one book in particular that she was looking for. It was a musty old tome, bound in leather and string. Open it too quickly and the velum pages might just tear themselves out. It was with an air of reverence that she plucked it from its shelf, carrying it ever so gently to the lecturn.
With delicate touches, she turned the pages. When she reached the one she’d been looking for, there was a reverent pause. A deep breath. Fingers traced the air just above cryptic runes. Muttered words beyond comprehension.
The room hummed with electricity, and all the books on the shelves burst into life. Creatures strange and wonderous flowed from the pages and danced through the air around Amelia’s head. Unicorns, dragons, harpies, chimera, and all manner of other beasts weaving to and fro on an invisible path, whispering into her ears.
A thousand stories told in a single day.