The girl is pale and dark-haired, too thin for the coat she's wearing. Sometimes I see her in one of the armchairs of the childrens' section, and sometimes sitting on the floor among a pile of books in between the shelves.
It doesn't matter how late I stay at the library, or how early I go there to visit, she's there somewhere, if I bother to look.
I never see her coming in or going out. The building is old, remade from an old manor, to a hotel, until it's reached this new life as a small town's public library. As a consequence, the building has its fair share of lesser known entries and exits.
I don't tell anyone about her. The winters are cold in our town, and I'm not about to put a girl out on the streets. The library's not the best place for a teenage girl to live, but at least it's warm and out of the snow.
Over the holidays, the library is closed, which means the heating will be off as well. I've found one of the lesser known doors over the few months of coming here, and I sneak in early the morning of Christmas, a wannabe Santa Claus without so many presents.
I just have a bento box of food and a thermos of hot chocolate, and I carry them to the bookshelves where I see her most. Fantasy and science fiction.
She's not there, but a book is lying open on the floor. It's a low fantasy about a world with magical creatures, and I can tell from just the cover that the subject matter is light-hearted.
I place the bento box on the floor and start to leave when the pages of the book flutter. They continue to move as I watch, and the ink rises above the pages like steam. It billows into a cloud of smoke, and the girl walks out.
Now I realize that she's more than pale, she's the color of parchment. Her hair is strands of ink.
I fall back onto the ugly carpet of the library, and the girl lets out a shriek. After continuing with a few expletives, she closes the book near her feet and places her hands on her hips.
"What are you doing here?" she asks.
I point at the food and thermos.
She sniffs the box and gingerly opens it, sitting cross-legged on the floor.
"Tofu, interesting," she says, taking a bite. "What is this?"
"I seasoned it with garlic and paprika."
"I meant, what does this food mean? Is it charity, a gift? A way to get into a poor girl's heart?"
Calling it charity feels awful, although it was technically just that.
"I just thought you'd like some warm food."
"I do like it, thanks."
It's a rude way of telling me to get lost, but I could take a hint. I wave a curt goodbye, and end up knocking another book off the shelf.
It falls open, and smoke rises from the pages. Smoke without fire, until my lungs are filled with it and I can see nothing.
When I open them again, I'm on a wide green field, with the girl by my side. She's still got the bento box in her hand.
"What just happened?"
"Consider this my repayment," the girl says. "A good meal, in exchange for an adventure. I believe we've entered the world of Daynor."
"The world of Daynor?"
"A fantasy of middling quality," she says. "But the writer was skilled at worldbuilding, so this will be a treat."
"Who are you?"
"Pleased to make your acquaintance," the girl says. "Lana, the ink traveler."
