When I entered the old bookstore that day, to cast off the stresses of the external world, I found my friend. It was leaning in thoughtful repose upon the upper shelf of the general fiction area, practically invisible beneath layers of dust. Probably a store clerk had misplaced it, tossing it carelessly amidst unintentional adversaries. Patrons always gravitated to its neighbour, that ubiquitous, cheerful and vacuous tribute to self-discovery that had gained mass popularity among the privileged set, for it promised a solution to the existential dread that seemed to plague most working moms in their 30s. The whiteness of its spine was in stark contrast to the drab exterior of its hapless and fallen rival. But I’d never been taken in by glitter and false promises.

Unwilling to be ignored, my friend whispered to me like a phantom, summoning me to pluck it from its unlikely resting place and peruse its pages. I brushed my palm over the old leather, and the volume fell open. Inside its covers lay a feast that had been longing all this time to act as written provision for the mind and soul. My gaze was full of yearning, but it wasn’t the desperate hunger of the hopeless addict who can never have his appetite sated. It was the zeal you experience when you realize that life is full of promise.

The small book store tucked in the corner of the small town was more than just an old shop. It was home. An escape. Like running through the forest, far, far away from all pressure, all eyes. Only those who look down on me without judgement are there. Birds flying through the trees, or librarians. “Hello, Ms. Lila!” I said joyfully as I lugged the library door open. It squealed in protest. “Hello, dear.” Ms. Lila greeted me. I followed her voice across the room. Her long black hair was pinned tightly on her head and she stood beside a metal rack stacked with books. I dropped my book-bag at a nearby table and stood beside her, helping organize each by the alphabet. “Any preferences for todays adventure?” She asked with a smile. My eyes lit up. “Maybe a book in another world. With forest and magic.” “Feeling real magical today, are we?” I gave a sly smile as she handed me a book with a green cover and red spine. I traced my fingers along the untitled cover before rushing off into the depths of the library. Despite the small outside, the library was a labyrinth on the inside. Twists and turns and several rooms, ladders, and staircases. I climbed a few floors before plopping down on the bean-bag nest in the corner. It was the kind that engulfs you like a warm hug. I flipped to the first page of the book, inhaling the scent. Magic.

Dark green skies and brown pillars. Twinkles of light in the distance. Anastia leaped through the intruppted meadows. She moved like a doe, yet chased like a wolf. She wanted to catch the little lights. Wanted to see what they were. Her eyes wide and curious, hair loose and gold. Anastia still held a child-like spirit. The kind only the world strives to take away. An unspoken goal. But she was free. That’s all that mattered to her. Not pressuring future or whatever else society has planned for her. All that mattered right now was her curiosity and spirit. _The dots could be fireflies, couldn’t they? Or perhaps fairies. _ Despite how the world might claim the idea as silly, Anastia hoped for the latter. Whenever she sat still in the forest, the sparkling specks would whisper secrets in her ears. Their voices were soft and high pitched. She couldn’t make out a word, though she loved listening to their stories. Like listening to waves on the beach. Anastia ran, the thought of such friends pushing energy and power into her sprint. _Her hands streched out, trying to cup the specks in her palm. She meant no harm, the fairies knew that. The way she seemed one with the forest and how she communicated with their friends. It seemed like a race. A challenge on who could run from tree to tree the fastest. _ _They flew with twirls and spins, teasing Anastia with their quiet voices. _ _Anastia couldn’t help but laugh. Such a hopeless attempt at catching the fairies, yet she couldn’t help but feel like she was flying on a cloud. The girl skidded to a stop and the fairies looped up ahead. Catching her breath, Anastia watched them play and taunt each other before flying out of reach. How she loved watching their carefree games. _ She leaned against a tree, her heart-beats steady rhythm returning. _Sinking to the ground, she watched them play from the cradle of roots. The birds chirped and dug for worms nearby. The soil was soft from a light shower the previous night, making everything in the forest smell fresh and heavenly. Anastia loved the smell of dirt and trees. How wonderful this world could be. _ _Anastia focused her eyes on the speck in front of her, nearly going cross-eyed at the size. She held out her palm and felt a gentle prick with the land of a fairy. _ _Anastia held her breath and examined the small figure. A leaf dress and wings that looked sewn out of lace, gold trimming and all. _ “You’re beautiful.” Anastia praised. The fairy seemed to understand, opening her wings wide like a butterfly. She lifted into the air, and much to Anastias delight, brought over a friend. The three talked and shared in the shade of the tree, understanding each word and question as if they were communicating telepathically. Anastia was sad to see them go, but the soft glow of the little fairies forever held a place in her heart. The feeling of running beside them and seeing their gorgeous wings glisten meant enough to her to add years to her life. And it was her secret to treasure. Her secret to keep.

I closed the book shut and took a breath of fresh air, the sun outside was sinking beneath the horizen with whisps of orange and pink painting the once blue sky. I always felt some sort of peace after finishing a book, as if I had just lived an extra life and had come back to this one. Like I had been flying on a cloud and just came back to Earth. “Fairies.” I said, trailing my fingers down the cover again. With a deep breath, I stood and hugged the book close to my chest. Flying on a cloud.

The old bookstore on the corner of Maple Street had always been a special place. It was the kind of shop that seemed timeless, tucked away like a hidden gem amidst the bustling city. Its weathered brick facade and wooden sign, which read “Morrow’s Books,” were familiar to the locals who passed by daily. A bell above the door would ring softly whenever someone entered, welcoming them with a comforting chime.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of aged paper and leather-bound covers. The shelves, some nearly as old as the store itself, were stacked high with books of all shapes and sizes. Each volume seemed to carry its own story beyond the one written on its pages—a whisper of past readers, the ghost of an old thumbprint left on a cover, or the faint hint of lavender from the sachets the owner liked to place between the rows.

Mrs. Morrow, the shop's elderly proprietor, moved gracefully between the aisles, her steps slow but purposeful. Her long silver hair was always tied in a loose braid that hung over her shoulder, and she wore round glasses perched on the tip of her nose. She had run the bookstore for as long as anyone could remember, and though her face bore the marks of time, her eyes sparkled with a youthful curiosity.

But today, as the morning sun filtered through the dusty windows, something felt different. There was a buzz in the air, an undercurrent of energy that seemed to hum just beneath the surface of the everyday. The usual creaks of the floorboards seemed more pronounced, as if the store was shifting slightly on its foundations, stretching and waking up. Mrs. Morrow noticed it first.

She stood by the front counter, her fingers lightly brushing over the cover of an old atlas, when a breeze that shouldn't have been there stirred her hair. The windows were shut tight, and the door was closed, but the pages of the atlas began to flutter as if touched by an unseen hand. Mrs. Morrow’s eyes widened, and she glanced around, her heart beating a little faster.

As she walked down the aisles, a familiar book caught her eye—a thick tome bound in dark blue leather, with gold leaf lettering that spelled out "The Chronicles of Forgotten Lands." It was one of her favorites, but she knew it hadn’t been there the day before. She reached out and gently pulled it from the shelf. As she did, the lights in the shop dimmed for just a moment, as if the store was taking a breath.

Holding the book, Mrs. Morrow felt a warmth spread through her hands, a soothing sensation that traveled up her arms and settled in her chest. She opened it carefully, and as she did, a single golden leaf fell from between its pages. The leaf shimmered in the air, floating slowly to the ground. Mrs. Morrow watched in awe as it landed gently at her feet, glowing softly before fading away.

It was then she realized what was happening. The store, her store, was waking up. She had always known there was something unique about it, a subtle magic that she could never quite place. But today, it seemed to be revealing itself more than ever before.

Mrs. Morrow continued to wander the aisles, watching as other small, peculiar things began to happen. A globe on a stand began to spin slowly, stopping on a different country each time as if directing her attention. Books would occasionally slide from their places on the shelves, opening themselves to a page that felt important, somehow. And the bell above the door tinkled without it being opened, like a chime in the wind.

Then, she noticed a boy standing by the back shelf, his back to her. He was flipping through a book, his small fingers turning the pages with a kind of reverence. She hadn’t heard him come in, but the sight of him didn’t alarm her. Instead, she felt a strange sense of peace.

"Hello there," Mrs. Morrow called softly, moving closer. "Are you looking for something in particular?"

The boy turned to her with a shy smile. His eyes were wide and bright, filled with a curiosity that matched her own. "No, ma'am," he said softly. "I was just drawn here."

Mrs. Morrow nodded knowingly. "This place has a way of doing that," she replied with a warm smile. "Especially today, it seems."

The boy closed the book he was holding and set it back on the shelf. “I think something special is happening,” he whispered, almost as if he were afraid speaking it out loud would break the spell.

Mrs. Morrow nodded again, more certain now. "Yes, I believe you're right."

They stood together in the quiet of the old bookstore, surrounded by shelves that seemed to lean in slightly, as if listening. The magic wasn’t loud or showy, but it was unmistakable, a gentle, comforting presence that filled every corner of the shop. For a moment, it felt as if time itself had paused to take a breath.

The boy looked up at Mrs. Morrow, his face alight with wonder. "Do you think it's always been like this?" he asked.

She thought for a moment before answering. "Perhaps it has," she said softly. "Perhaps it's only now that we're truly noticing."

And with that, they continued to explore the shop together

Come when the nights are bright with stars

Or when the moon is mellow;

Come when the sun his golden bars

Drops on the hay-field yellow.

Come in the twilight soft and gray,

Come in the night or come in the day,

Come, O love, whene’er you may

And you are welcome, Come when the nights are bright with stars No Or when the moon is mellow;

Come when the sun his golden bars

Drops on the hay-field yellow.

Come in the twilight soft and gray,

Come in the night or come in the day,

Come, O love, whene’er you may,

And you are welcome, welcome.

I walk into are old, local bookstore. a smell of books both old and new meet my nose, new books have a sharp tang to them, while old books smell slightly musty, both are warm and comforting. The old bookstore has always been my escape, but today it felt different, almost magical…. I dismiss the thought though, it’s probably just because theirs more people in here then usual, why are their that many people anyway? And, is that a police officer? What’s she doing in here? I open the inside door and everyone’s faces whip towards me, this seems to break everyone out of their silent circle. An old lady starts to cry hysterically, the police officer makes a phone call, and a young girl pushes past me, silent tears streaming down her face. I glimpse something on the floor behind them, I squeeze my way through everyone. But what i see is not expected. the owner of the bookstore, an old man, is lying on the ground, eyes wide open, colourless. I gasp. I kneel to the ground, though I already know what I will feel when I lay my hand on his chest. nothing. No rise or fall, no beating heart. Empty. How? Why? I voice these questions to the person beside me, not fully expecting an answer at all, but she shakes her head and says: “no one knows, he was the first one who saw him” she jerks her head to a man around 20 in age “he came out screaming for someone to call 911, officer Jane came running, but theirs no witnesses, nobody knows what happened.” She finishes shrugging. I can’t believe it, the kind old man downtown who runs my favourite book shop is…gone?! Who did this? What did this? was it some kind of sickness? People around me seem to be coming to the same conclusion. Officer Jane calls everyone to go home, she says it was probably just a heart attack. But then someone yells at her, I turn around, it’s a woman, I’ve met her before, she comes to the bookstore a lot and sometimes takes shifts there, her name is Marie if I remember right. “Just a heart attack!? How can you say that?! My father is dead!! Shouldn’t you investigate!!? Shouldn’t you be running tests!? And even if it is a heart attack, your saying it like he just had a cold! He’s lying on the floor dead for Christ’s sake!!” People are staring at her but she doesn’t seem to care, she just keeps yelling. I would too of course if my father was dead, but that doesn’t keep me from taking a step back. “Okay, okay.” Says officer Jane trying to calm the hysterical woman down “I’m sorry that my tone offended you. your right, I should have been more considerate. I’m so sorry. But we really need to have a level head about this or we won’t figure it out.” But this just makes Marie more angry. taking one more sad look at the old bookkeeper, I turn to leave, I push the door open with my shoulder. Inhaling as I step outside, I breath in and out. Clean air, untouched by the stench of death. I start towards the direction of my house, but I freeze when I hear the sound of something in the back alleyway behind the bookstore. I take a step closer, it sounds like someone is rooting through the old dumpster out back. Unable to resist, I walk into the alleyway. Theirs a big… dog? Pawing through the garbage. But, no. That can’t be a dog, for it looks like it’s made of writhing smoky black tentacles. I turn to run but before I get two steps, it turns around and leaps.

                        📚📚📚

Hi everyone! Hope you liked my story! It’s been sitting in my drafts for a long time so I thought it might be fun to finally finish it. hope everyone is doing all right, and please tell me if you like this and if it’s good enough to do a second chapter.

As I walked along the rows of bookshelves, slowly breathing in the smell of the paper, I relished being in the space, among some of my favorite stories. I reached my hand out and ran it along the backs of the books, feeling the rough surface of the paperbacks and admiring the striking design of the books. There were all matter of colors, from the deepest blacks to the shiniest of golds and the brightest reds. One book in particular jumped out to me, it had this deep blue paperback cover that I had never seen before so I had to take off the shelf. I picked out the book and sat down in a nearby chair. This was truly where I loved to be

The same wooden frame, rustic shelves, soft music, lively plants. Every familiar comfort of my beloved bookstore except this distinguished feeling I couldn’t figure out. Usually on tough days I find solace within the romance section. So that’s where I went firstly. A velvety red spine with fancy lettering caught my eye. “The chosen princess” is what it read. I’ve never been into fantasy but the little girl in me beckons me to at least admire the cover. Who am I to say no to that? I gently pull the heavy book off the shelf and into both hands. “Wow,” I mouth. It has unexpected weight but the intricate crown design on the cover makes up for it. Feels like it hasn’t been opened in ages I think as I flip through. I shrug and set it back in it’s place but the moment I let go the lettering on the spine glows. Bright and gold it shines. My hand freezes. Stunned. The shelf starts to tremble. I shriek. Books go tumbling but the velvet book stays put as the lettering continues to grow brighter. Blinded. My eyes water and I shield my face. My day is just FANTASTIC. I needed more ridiculousness to finish it off. Once the glistening behind my fingers are gone I slowly bring my hand back to my side. Weird. There’s no mess… and no book? I start scanning the shelves for the mysterious book. Nothing. That’s more than enough for me to handle today so I lock up shop and head to my car. I drive my small pearly SUV back to my apartment and fish for the keys in my purse that I set beside me. Once I get up to the apartment, the door is cracked open. Did I forget to shut it? Nothing seems out of place stepping in. Except that red velvety book sitting on my coffee table opened to the first page. Panic rises within me because clearly I have a stalker, so slamming my door and closing the blinds seemed like the right thing to do. I turn on the lamp beside my couch and peer over the book. The first page reads, “Victoria Lane, the one I’ve traveled time to find. I’ve sent this book of magic for you. You may not know us but we know you. You’re a prophesied princess chosen by the gods to save our fallen kingdom. When you’re ready, follow the instructions on the next page and the book will take you back to me. I need you Victorica. My parents are dead so I have a weight I cannot bear alone. Sincerely, prince Axton.

Everyone, at some point in their lives, have walked into an old bookstore in hopes they’d be swept away by secret magic, right?

But I wasn’t expecting that today when my friends, Laurie, Hunter and I, entered the small bookstore we used to pass by on our way to our university. Back during our first year, anyway, when we lived in a student accommodation. Now we lived elsewhere, in our third and final year.

So we might as well finally give this store a visit.

Hunter and I adored books—so much so that I already had my own book to read, and he picked out four different ones from the shelves. Laurie, on the other hand, was still deciding.

“I don’t want anything romantic.” Was what she told me. It was understandable, especially knowing the stories she told me about men she met.

I felt the same way after my own experiences. Romance; unnecessarily arbitrary. And men, unnecessarily… ugh.

“How about this?” I suggested, pointing to a book on the shelf of the most well-known books. “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, since you like Disney?”

“Hmm…” Laurie hummed in high-pitched, disapproving reluctance. Picking up on her tone, I tried another book.

“You could read Little Women! It has a bit of romance in it, but the main character kinda fights it off like—“

“I already saw the movie.”

“Oh.”

The last book I read was Serendipity. The book before that was The Song of Achilles. Both were romance, albeit my ick for it. But what could I say? They were so well-written, in my opinion.

I fell silent, and shrugged, unsure what to suggest, so I joined Hunter on the bench and began to read. Laurie sat with us and ended up browsing Instagram instead.

The bench was crescent-shaped, lining a large window along the wall of the second floor that overlooked the street. I fell into the world of The Illustrated Man, my gaze waltzing with the words along the pages for a whole hour.

But then it happened.

And it’s ironic, really. I mean, they always say it happens when you least expect it.

A man walked into the room, and I glanced up at him briefly. He sat down to my left, a pillow away from me. I saw it all from the corner of my eye—he leaned back, raising his leg for his ankle to rest on his other leg’s knee. And he opened a book’s first page.

I continued reading, but he kept glancing at me. I didn’t dare look up from my book. What if we made eye contact? Terrifying.

But, the pillow between us was slowly falling off the bench, and I knew that after it would’ve fallen, we would likely make eye contact. And that made me excited.

I know it was contradictory.

Throughout the next hour, I noticed the pillow falling ever so slowly in my peripheral. And yes, it did indeed take an hour for it to fall. I partly wanted to give it a little nudge, but I refrained.

“I’m leaving now,” Laurie suddenly said to Hunter and I, standing up and coming up to us.

“Oh, okay, bye! Thanks for coming,” Hunter smiled sweetly.

“Bye, take care, Laurie,” I added gently, looking up at her with a kind expression as I pretended not to notice the man watching our interaction with what I presumed was curiosity.

It was my “American” accent, wasn’t it? I mean, the way I saw it, it was everyone else that had the accent. But I guess this was what I signed up for with studying abroad in England.

More minutes of reading passed. Peaceful silence fell fast. I couldn’t tell how long it had been, but I noticed the man continuously checking his phone for the time. Hunter checked his own phone too. So I did the same at one point. I returned to my book, engrossed with the contents, absorbed and—

It fell.

As suspenseful as the silence, and as cliché as someone in love, the pillow fell.

At last, we made eye contact. I could feel my body tensing up in nervous anticipation as my book’s pages slightly creased under my thumbs. He had dirty blonde hair, a black hoodie, a single silver earring, and a look on his face that made him seem speechless. I could see it in his eyes, in that split second looking for something to say, breath caught in his throat as if he was waiting a whole hour for this moment too.

“Was that me?” He finally said with an awkward huff of a chuckle, faulting himself for the pillow’s fall. A beat passed before I could reply.

“Oh, um…” I glanced down at the pillow and laughed lightly. “Well, it was probably going to fall eventually.” And he laughed too. Oh, god, his laugh.

It really was going to fall for him eventually. Inevitably. I could relate.

I could feel Hunter’s eyes on me, though. He was my best friend and roommate, but I felt so embarrassed to be seen so flustered. Could he tell?

“It’s strange. We’ve been sitting together for an hour, and even though we haven’t said a word to each other until now, there still feels like a connection,” He smiled warmly.

“Yeah,” I said almost breathlessly.

He did not just say that.

“Yeah,” I repeated again, more audibly. I chuckled and added, “I feel the same.”

“Exactly! You know, it’s like…” His sentence drifted away, his wording losing its footing. “Ah, uh, I forgot what I was going to say.” He smiled sheepishly, shyly rubbing the back of his neck. It was so endearing.

“No worries, that happens a lot to me too!”

We began talking about the books we were reading, and Hunter joined the conversation. Hunter was reading a book about grief. I was reading a book about a person with tattoos that came to life.

And the man? He was reading a romance novel. Because of course he would, universe. Thanks, universe. Jeez, universe.

I couldn’t remember the title, but it was a fictional story about love letters someone wrote.

I joked about starting a book club, and he said there was actually a poster about it over there. I leaned in to see it from his point of view, and he read it out loud. It said something along the lines of “stop your search everyone, the book club is right here!”

“I guess we can stop looking then,” I shrugged and giggled.

“Yeah,” The man replied, “It looks like we found everything we’re looking for here.”

Then he looked at me like that.

Yes, like that.

At the end of our conversation, I asked Hunter if we were still going to Tesco in an hour like we planned, to which he said yes. The man glanced up at that.

I continued reading my book, smiling like an idiot. It took me a whole page and a half of reading until I finally could stop smiling a bit.

This time, I dared to glance up when he started talking into his phone after half an hour. He answered it as it buzzed. He explained how he was in a book store and reading an entire book, as if he hadn’t done this before. And he only had five pages left of the book, so he’d call them back after.

Five pages left. Five. I pretended to keep reading as I tried to figure out the last thing I wanted to say to him. I rehearsed it in my head countless times. Introduce myself, get his name, exchange contacts.

I didn’t end up doing any of that.

He had to leave in a rush. But, before he left, he jokingly said, “see you next week for book club!”

That day, Hunter and I walked back to our shared flat after the Tesco trip, where he was rambling excitedly about his uni project. I always listen to his rambles, I love hearing him talk. But this time, my head was up in the clouds. On the ninth one.

I didn’t tell Hunter about how I felt about the man, but perhaps he knew something was up. Like in the way I’d listen to my romance playlist on Spotify non-stop. I just couldn’t wait for “book club.”

Sunday. Monday, school. Tuesday, school again. Wednesday, I began to feel the nerves. Thursday, I went out with my friends.

And now, on Friday, I couldn’t help but prepare my outfit for tomorrow. For an event I wasn’t even sure was going to happen. Because, it wasn’t a guarantee. What if he was just joking? What if I didn’t seem interested enough? What if he didn’t show up?

What if he did?

After preparing for bed, I promised myself I would enjoy myself no matter what happened. At least I’d still have Ray Bradbury, and his book about tattoos. At least I’d still have Hunter, who I had plans with to infiltrate our rival university’s library with on Sunday. At least I’d still have Laurie, who I could tell this story to and complain about men to.

I sighed softly, closed my eyes, and rested my head on my pillow, like the one that fell, like me.

The old bookstore had always been my escape, but today it felt different, almost magical, as it was suffused with the rich aroma of coffee. I looked up and locked eyes with the server. He had worked at this bookstore since it opened, and his recommendations were stellar. I hadn’t spoken to him without a cash register between us. But there he stood, pouring coffee, his lips forming an invitation, his lovely hands drumming on a new stack of personalized choices fire me to peruse. Shyly, I sat beside him, while he raised the coffee cup to his lips…

The old bookstore had always been my escape, but today if felt different, almost magical like the air in the bookstore had a tingle to it tasting slightly sour. The atmosphere seemed calm but tense like a calm before a storm, but also safe and protective. My multi colored eye one aqua one purple scanned the store looking for its owner, but she was no where to be found. ‘She must be in the back.’ I thought and I walked up and down the isles of many fascinating books. I stopped at the end of one of the isles as I had found what I had come in here for. A book I had been waiting for almost two years to come out write by the one and only Noura Black.

“Ah I see you found it.” A female voice chuckled from behind me, “ and I was just going to call you too sense she just delivered them today…Ah well your here now so that’s all that matters.”

“Rift!” I almost trip over my own two feet in my excitement until I caught what the young store owner had said. “Wait she delivered Them? She who?” I asked

Laughing as she caught my arm to steady me her bright and deep golden brown eyes sparked in knowing. “Why Noura herself of course.”

Getting my bearings from my near fall I looked at the slightly taller woman with awe as she started to walk away. “Are you kidding me?!” I replied my mouth dropping open as I looked at Rift in disbelief.

She turned the look back at me. “What?” She asked trying to hold in an amused look no doubt she found the look on my face quit funny.

“Noura Black delivered these Books herself?” I asked looking at the book in my hand then back at Rift who nodded in reply with a an amused smile plastered on her face. I crossed my arms holding the book in question close to my chest giving the bookstore owner a sceptic look. “I find that hard to believe.”

Rift could no longer had her full amusement as she chuckled out her reply “ What?… Why is that so hard to believe?” She started to walk behind the check out counter her long braided Brown and and grayish hair swaying with ever confident step.

“Why would one of the worlds best Writers deliver her own books to any bookstore let alone a small locally owned one?” I fallowed Rift to the counter.

Rift put a hand on her hip. “Don’t think a small bookstore is worth a big writers attention?” She asked with one eyebrow raised.

I shook my head putting the book in my arms in on the counter. “That’s not what I meant… what I meant was she a famous writer she must be busy.” I replied digging my wallet out of my bag.

Rift nodded in understandment. “She is a busy lady more then she should be at times I believe but I will tell you this,” her smile grew as she grabbed book. “This is the only shop she visits in her free time.”

Looking up from my bag I tilted my head to the side in question. “Really why?” I asked.

“She uses to own this Bookstore,” seeing my shocked face my best friend of 10 years smiled “I guess I never told you but Noura not only use to own the store but she is also so my godmother. She gave me this place to me to take care of so she could finish her first book…,” Rift looked lost in thought like she was forgetting something as she looked down at the copy Noura’s newest back that I had picked out. “Oh that’s right.” She mused picking up the book and pitting under the counter and pulling out another book. This one was wrapped with a waxed sealed note tied to it “This copy is for you already payed for and before you say any thing … I didn’t pay for it Noura did. Said something about for the bookstores number one patron.” Rift gave me a small wink with a small and before I could reply to anything she had said she shooed me out of the store with a “Have a Good night Pyra.” as it was late and she was ready to close up.

— — —

Rift waved at her friend Pyra as the shorter woman began to walk home. Once Pyra was out of sight Rift flipped her open sigh to closed looked the door and closed the store front window before taking a deep breath and sighing as she walked to shut off the house light and heading to her loft apartment atop the store. When walked in to her living room she frowned as she stared at her godmother and a figure by her big picture window. “She has a right to know.” She voiced in almost a protesting tone.

Noura’s Sky blue eyes met the younger woman’s golden orbs and smiled “I know dear how did she like the gift?” She asked as the male figured shifted.

“By the look of awe other face I would say she loved it.” Rift replied as she sat down Beside Noura laying one hand one the back of the couched crossing her legs. Her aura dark and unhappy make it clear the the other two in the room how she felt and about the whole situation. “But that’s not the matter at hand is it Michel.” Rift Glared at the man by her window who sighed and turned to look at the two women.

“You know we can’t tell her yet Hatter.” He rasped looking over the rim of his glasses. “And you of people should know why we can’t being the one who had to kill her brith parents.”

Their eyes locked at the mention of Rift’s past actions. Michels grin faded as Rifts aura grew reminding him of who’s home he was in and what she was capable of. The messenger needed to be careful with his words and his actions but it was so easy to tick Rift off and to him it was almost amusing to watch her sit there and try to control her discontent, but he also know he could only push her so far before she made her regret missing with her as evident of the scars that ran down his right eye and around his neck.

Noura cleared her throat to brake the tension between the two. Her aura beginning to drown Rifts out. “Now now,” Noura’s voice was sickly sweet as she spoke causing the other two to flinch ever so slightly. “We are not here to fight among ourselves we are allies after all and friends before that.” She looked at the pair as Michel crossed his arms. Just as she was about to continued another figured appeared in front of the three.

“Yes Noura you are correct and to turn on each other would wound us greatly as we are at war and our enemy would take advantage of this discontent if he were to see it.” The voice of the figure boomed in the room causing Rift to whence.