I had always been a serious child. I was the sort of kid that would hide under a table with a book instead of playing with the other children and was constantly told to “lighten up” or smile.
As a teenager, I evolved into a quiet, mean-looking girl with a sharp tounge. It wasn’t my fault, really. My resting face looks as though I’m plotting someone’s murder, and I prefer painful truths to comforting lies.
Because of this, most people stayed away from me, although the exceptionally brave and ridiculously innocent were not deterred, and those types of people make the dearest friends.
I still spent most of my time reading alone, but no longer did I hide to do it. I had effectively claimed a corner of the library where I would sit with my legs dangling over the arm of a chair. Others tried to adopt the same posture and were quickly told off by the librarian. She had a soft spot for me, possibly because our cold, rational demeanors were so simmilar.
That wasn’t the only thing we had in common. Our tastes in books were exactly the same. Contrary to our outward appearances, we loved fantasy and fairy tales. She would hold books for me that I hadn’t reserved because she knew I’d like them. I never knew her name, but I considered her a true friend.
One day, I heard the news that they would be sorting through thier collection and throwing out old books. Immediately I rushed to the counter and begged her to let me rescue some of the volumes that would have otherwise been thrown out. She grinned as if she had been waiting for this. She waved me into the back where dusty stacks of books lay ready to be thrown out. The whole room smelled of paper, and I couldn’t help but run my hands over as many yellowed pages as I could reach. I would not let any of these be destroyed.
The librarian helped me put them into plastic shopping bags, not even questioning that I wanted them all. She seemed pleased, in fact. I couldn’t carry them home all at once so each day I shoved a few in my backpack, and carried as many bags as I could. It wasn’t until a week or two later, when I was putting the last of the books on a shelf at home, that I noticed something strange.
In my hands was a volume of Arthurian legends, one I didn’t remember seeing in the library. When I opened it, I discovered that the pages were loose, not attached to the binding. Someone had hidden The Guide inside the cover of another book! I was fascinated and read it carefully, gleaning as much as I could from the pages.
Apon reflection, I suspect that the librarian was a Thornmouth and once I expressed my wish to “rescue” the discarded books, she placed The Guide in one of my bags, hoping I would know what to do next. I don’t know where she got it or why she was working in a high school library, but I’m sure she was the one responsible for recruiting me.