. . .
"Memores acti prudentes futuri:
Mindful of things done, aware of things to come. Thus, both remembering the past and foreseeing the future."
. . .
Moments of quiet like this, ones where she was allowed to relax and simply be. And with a good book or two, were far and few in between since after... well, everything.
For as long as she remembered, reading had always brought her comfort; she had always liked and enjoyed stories, after all. That, or maybe William's parents were to blame for turning her into such a bookworm.
Ironic, for despite how much she loved words, Proserpina herself wasn't the expressive type. She just couldn't really put it into words no matter how hard she tries...
But there was just something comforting, familiar, about running one's finger over the spine of the books she had painstakingly arranged in her bookshelf, in an order that she personally prefers. There was something relieving about picking one story out (especially one that she was saving for a long period of time) opening it up only to be greeted by that distinctive coffee-like scent, with the slightest hint of vanilla, mixed with the delicate aroma of smoke and wood, one that smells and feels like being welcomed home...
Already, she can feel her whole body relaxing for the first time since she returns to this country as her ears pick up the soft flutter that decorates the otherwise silent room as she turns the page onto the next.
The feeling of the paper's texture underneath her gloveless fingertips, the tangible weight of the book in one's hand was something she handles as easy as she wields the blade of Thanatos since the other god had been handed down to her on that fateful night.
And as she settles further in her chair, with the god of death settled somewhere within the depths of her shadows, Proserpina finally admits, if only to herself that she has no actual preferences when it comes to reading whatever is in her hands. It doesn't matter if the story deals with romance, historical, mystery, horror, or even nonfiction... they are all fair game. Because as long as the topic interests her, she can surely enjoy the book.
Despite her initial weariness, Proserpina soon realizes that she's burning through books quite quickly, jumping from one to the other until she found herself staring blankly at the pile of finished books lounging almost mockingly by her bedside table.
She'll end up losing reading material at this rate.
('A good excuse for you to get another stack then,'
She smirks, fair enough.)
But right now, as easily as she had found herself immersed in her reading, her thoughts soon began to stray, distracted... elsewhere.
So, she began to read out loud.
"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
