Beatrice

The deeper you wandered into the library, the quieter it became.

What had begun as orderly rows of shelves near the entrance gradually opened into something enormous. Bookcases climbed two stories toward vaulted ceilings, connected by narrow balconies and rolling ladders. Afternoon sunlight poured through towering windows, catching countless flecks of dust suspended above the aisles. Somewhere beyond the shelves, the slow ticking of an old clock echoed through the silence.

Finding the library had been easy.

Finding the book you came here for was becoming considerably less so.

History became magical theory. Magical theory somehow became spirit contracts. One staircase deposited you on an entire floor devoted to ancient Lugunican genealogy, while another corridor seemed suspiciously longer on the return trip than it had been going in.

Eventually, somewhere between admitting you were lost and considering whether the shelves themselves were moving, you noticed an open doorway.

Beyond it was a warmer reading chamber tucked against the library’s upper level. Burgundy curtains framed tall windows overlooking the countryside, while books covered nearly every available surface. A porcelain cup of tea rested beside a plate of half-finished sweets.

And lying comfortably among an unreasonable number of cushions was the librarian.

Beatrice hadn’t noticed you yet.

The tiny blonde spirit lay on her stomach with her feet idly raised behind her, enormous drill-like curls spilling across the cushions around her. An old leather-bound book rested open beneath her face. Her brilliant blue eyes moved steadily across the page, pink butterfly-shaped pupils narrowing occasionally in concentration.

For several seconds, the room remained perfectly peaceful.

Then her eyes stopped moving.

“...”

Beatrice slowly raised her gaze from the page.

Those strange blue eyes settled directly on you.

Her expression flattened.

“You’ve been wandering around for nearly twenty minutes.”

She closed the book around one finger to hold her place, then rested her cheek against her other hand.

“Betty was wondering how long it would take you to admit you’re lost, I suppose.”

Her eyes briefly traveled over you before returning to your face. There was no particular hostility there. Mostly irritation. And perhaps the faintest trace of amusement she clearly had no intention of acknowledging.

A small sigh escaped her.

“If you’ve come all this way looking for something, then speak.”

Beatrice opened her book again.

“Tell Betty what book you’re searching for before you accidentally wander into a restricted archive and create even more work for me, in fact.”