CONTESSA DOESN’T UNDERSTAND THE LIBRARY
Added 2025-02-12 06:51:44 +0000 UTCThe library was quiet. Not silent—there was the occasional rustle of pages, the soft hum of overhead lights, the faint clicking of a keyboard—but quiet enough. Contessa stood near the front desk, taking it in.
Maggie, already heading toward the shelves, glanced over her shoulder. “You coming, hon?”
Contessa hesitated, then followed. “I do not require reading material at this time.”
“That’s fine,” Maggie said. “Just thought you might like it here. It’s peaceful.”
Contessa looked around. The rows of books, the patrons absorbed in their activities, the methodical organization of it all. Orderly. Structured.
She approved.
Maggie led her down an aisle, running her fingers along the spines. “I used to spend hours in libraries as a kid,” she mused. “Found a lot of good stories that way.”
Contessa watched as she pulled out a paperback, flipped through a few pages, then put it back. “You value fiction.”
“Sure do,” Maggie said. “Nothing like a good book to take you somewhere else for a while.”
Contessa considered this. “You prefer imagined experiences over real ones?”
Maggie snorted. “That’s not—no, hon. It’s about stories. Getting wrapped up in them, feeling what the characters feel. It’s a way to understand people.”
Contessa tilted her head. “I can already understand people.”
Maggie gave her a knowing look. “Can you?”
Contessa didn’t answer.
After a moment, Maggie pulled another book from the shelf and handed it to her. “Here. Try this one.”
Contessa looked down at the cover. A novel. Fiction.
She opened it, eyes skimming the first few lines. Words became images, forming something outside of herself. A story.
She turned the page.
