(voice)

[likeboudica]

I have not been to the library today, and yet I seem to carry the smell of books, of old pages and ink, with me wherever I go today.

Strange, perhaps, but it makes me think of long days in the library with a heavy book in my lap and sunshine barely filtering through the windows. The scent reminds me of peacefulness and thoughtfulness and— maybe even contentness. So it is not wholly unwelcome, truly.

Are others experiencing the same? Is it a curse, then?

Comments

[candothat]

[She might rethink that if she were to acquaint herself with certain meals.] You are even braver than I thought, and I already thought that you were very brave. Piroshky, then, if we can find a recipe.

[likeboudica]

[ She never said she'd eat them. How bad can cooking them be, truly? ] You thought me brave?

[candothat]

[That probably depends on who you ask...]

Of course. [mock exasperation] Are you going to debate this with me, also?

[likeboudica]

No, I suppose that I should not. [ Still smiling. She hasn't been this— happy and carefree, truly, in a long time. ] Though I do not consider myself particularly brave.

[candothat]

[She should try to get used to it. 'Happy and carefree' is a good place to be.] Then you will have to believe me until you have an opportunity to convince yourself.

[likeboudica]

That seems acceptable. [ Considering that it's only in her favour. ]