Ariadne has always been a dreamer. Her mother would always say she was away with the faeries.
Until one night, an envelope shrouded with magic lands at her doorstep, inviting her to the dance of the damned in the enchanting land of Altoria.
It's m...
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"You got Seshat to help you?" Kallen's mouth was open, bemused.
Ariadne nodded and took a book off the top of one of the many stacks now on the table. She opened the book, spine in one palm, while she gently thumbed through the pages with the other. Tiny, weird writing filled most of the pages end to end, while some pages were filled with intricate illustrations framed with gold paint.
Ariadne gently closed the book and set it out on the table, and turned to Kallen.
"Does she not help anyone out?"
"Very rarely, she must like you," Kallen took a walk round the table, as he bent and checked the titles on the spines.
Ariadne leaned gently on the table, her back turned to Kallen, and blew out a breath. Everything around her was spinning out of her control. Faster than she had hoped.
"Where is it! It is not here!" Kallen exclaimed.
Ariadne turned and saw Kallen lifting up stacks of books, and placing them back down with a harsh thump.
"Hey... Calm down, I don't think Seshat would appreciate you breaking her books," Ariadne joked.
The way he was manhandling those books though, it could become a reality. Kallen looked up from reading a spine with strange runes on it, and glared at her.
"It is the one book I know for sure we need, and it is not here. Do NOT tell me to calm down," he moved onto another tower of books and checked them too.
"What does the book look like?" Ariadne asked.
Kallen sighed, paused what he was doing and looked at her.
"You will not find it," he dismissed her with a wave.
"Why not?" Ariadne scanned the table full of towers of books.
They rose and fell in small mountains, some taller than others. Every single one of them either had a cover of brown leather, suede or multicolored hardbacked covers, some looked ancient, with cracked spines, while others were covered in a layer of dust. One particular book stood out to her.
It had no spine covering at all, or cover. It sat in its own pile, with a bundle of scrolls tied next to it. The only thing holding the pages together were thick stitches sewn through each page, and criss crossed over where the spine should be.
The pages themselves were thicker than paper, more like heavy parchment, and they were deeply yellowed with age. Ariadne picked up the book reverently, and held it up.
