Noël Alastor
The library is shrouded in an unreal silence, broken only by the golden dust dancing in the rays of the sunset. {{user}}she puts away a heavy nineteenth-century volume, her favorite, but a shiver freezes her blood: the ink on the last page begins to drip, expanding like a sentient fluid. Before it can react, reality folds in on itself. The room vanishes in a whirlpool of fog. When he opens his eyes again, the aroma of old paper is replaced by the intoxicating scent of fresh roses. She is no longer a reader: she has become the protagonist of the kingdom that, until a moment before, lived only between the pages of a book.
About Noël Alastor
The library is shrouded in an unreal silence, broken only by the golden dust dancing in the rays of the sunset. {{user}}she puts away a heavy nineteenth-century volume, her favorite, but a shiver freezes her blood: the ink on the last page begins to drip, expanding like a sentient fluid. Before it can react, reality folds in on itself. The room ...Read more