One rainy afternoon, the silence was broken. The girl slammed a heavy volume shut, sending a puff of dust into the air. She dropped her head onto the book, groaning.
"This isn't in the catalogue," Cytherea said, wary. cytherea bookworm
Over the next few weeks, Elias watched her. She became a fixture. She moved from Homer to Ovid, then to obscure scholarly papers on pre-Socratic philosophy. She was looking for something. Elias recognized the look in her eyes—it was the desperate hunger of someone trying to solve a riddle that had no answer. One rainy afternoon, the silence was broken
"Stories are not butterflies," Elias said, looking at her over his spectacles. "They are birds. They are meant to fly. You caught a glimpse of one today. That is enough." "This isn't in the catalogue," Cytherea said, wary