rainfall had eased from a heavy downfall to a light shower, although it was still showing no signs of letting up completely. The sun peeked at him from behind a cloud and then disappeared again. So much for autumn; it seemed as though winter had suddenly started early in this part of the country, or it had, at least, this year.
The library door opened, and a woman slightly older than Tomas walked out. She smiled at him, eyed him up and down, and held the door open. "It's warmer in than out," she said, shifting her books so that they were balanced under one arm. Her jacket was zipped up to her neck, the bright red of a woolen jumper barely visible hanging below each sleeve. The idea of somewhere warm was looking much more inviting with every passing minute. Tomas missed his own jumper and T-shirt; while he was thankful for the clothes Donovan had loaned him, they were not as comfortable and familiar as his own. He supposed he should be thankful that the overstretched jumper hid the too-short black T-shirt, which kept riding up. Even so, it was not his preferred style or color.
He nodded and walked inside, mumbling a thank-you under his breath but not introducing himself or giving her the chance to do so either. The door closed behind him as he crossed the threshold into another world.
Or at least that was the way it seemed, in stark contrast to the cold wetness outside. The entranceway in which Tomas found himself was bright, homey, the heat radiated by the old-fashioned oil-filled radiators on the walls warm and inviting, the wooden floors polished and covered in large mats the color of autumn leaves. A spiral staircase led upward to his left, but the sign hanging above it proclaimed that it was for staff only. To the side of the double doors which he presumed he needed to cross through to enter the main collection, there was an old-fashioned writing desk with an old book sitting on it. Immediately his eye was drawn to a tapestry above it. He took a step closer, running his hand over the glass protecting it.
The stitching was very fine, the color that of sepia, giving it the look of something handwritten rather than the product of a needle and thread. Around the frame was an unusual design etched into the wood. Tomas frowned, something tugging in the corner of his mind, whispering to him that he should know and recognize it, even though he did not.
It appeared to be made up of three swirls but wasn't defined enough to be described as a specific shape. Looking closer, they seemed to touch, but barely, existing as separate entities with a dash of color where the background meshed and merged, the depth of the carving shallow in some places, deeper in others. A faint ray of sun strained through the stained glass windows in the far wall, illuminating the carving briefly. For an instant Tomas could have sworn they looked like roses, but when he blinked the illusion was gone.
The words on the tapestry itself were framed by a double heart, the inner one the color of lavender, the outer dark pink. Tomas blinked, his hand going to his pocket, his fingers absently caressing the soft surface of the rose petal. Slowly, he read the verse aloud, deciphering the letters into words, pausing at the beginning of each line. Poetry was meant to be read aloud. His voice dropped to a whisper. " Love me now, love me never, but if you love me, love me forever. "
He peered closer, trying to read the name of the poet, but all that was written under the poem was the word "unknown." Two letters were embroidered down the bottom right of the fabric, merging into one another. Could they be initials?
"Hey, Tomas, Phoebe wants to meet you." Donovan interrupted Tomas's thoughts.
Jerking his head up and instinctively taking a step back, Tomas glared at Donovan, who was standing with his arms crossed as he leaned back against the wall. Tomas wasn't sure how long Donovan had been watching him, but it was certainly long enough to be amused, if the look on
The library door opened, and a woman slightly older than Tomas walked out. She smiled at him, eyed him up and down, and held the door open. "It's warmer in than out," she said, shifting her books so that they were balanced under one arm. Her jacket was zipped up to her neck, the bright red of a woolen jumper barely visible hanging below each sleeve. The idea of somewhere warm was looking much more inviting with every passing minute. Tomas missed his own jumper and T-shirt; while he was thankful for the clothes Donovan had loaned him, they were not as comfortable and familiar as his own. He supposed he should be thankful that the overstretched jumper hid the too-short black T-shirt, which kept riding up. Even so, it was not his preferred style or color.
He nodded and walked inside, mumbling a thank-you under his breath but not introducing himself or giving her the chance to do so either. The door closed behind him as he crossed the threshold into another world.
Or at least that was the way it seemed, in stark contrast to the cold wetness outside. The entranceway in which Tomas found himself was bright, homey, the heat radiated by the old-fashioned oil-filled radiators on the walls warm and inviting, the wooden floors polished and covered in large mats the color of autumn leaves. A spiral staircase led upward to his left, but the sign hanging above it proclaimed that it was for staff only. To the side of the double doors which he presumed he needed to cross through to enter the main collection, there was an old-fashioned writing desk with an old book sitting on it. Immediately his eye was drawn to a tapestry above it. He took a step closer, running his hand over the glass protecting it.
The stitching was very fine, the color that of sepia, giving it the look of something handwritten rather than the product of a needle and thread. Around the frame was an unusual design etched into the wood. Tomas frowned, something tugging in the corner of his mind, whispering to him that he should know and recognize it, even though he did not.
It appeared to be made up of three swirls but wasn't defined enough to be described as a specific shape. Looking closer, they seemed to touch, but barely, existing as separate entities with a dash of color where the background meshed and merged, the depth of the carving shallow in some places, deeper in others. A faint ray of sun strained through the stained glass windows in the far wall, illuminating the carving briefly. For an instant Tomas could have sworn they looked like roses, but when he blinked the illusion was gone.
The words on the tapestry itself were framed by a double heart, the inner one the color of lavender, the outer dark pink. Tomas blinked, his hand going to his pocket, his fingers absently caressing the soft surface of the rose petal. Slowly, he read the verse aloud, deciphering the letters into words, pausing at the beginning of each line. Poetry was meant to be read aloud. His voice dropped to a whisper. " Love me now, love me never, but if you love me, love me forever. "
He peered closer, trying to read the name of the poet, but all that was written under the poem was the word "unknown." Two letters were embroidered down the bottom right of the fabric, merging into one another. Could they be initials?
"Hey, Tomas, Phoebe wants to meet you." Donovan interrupted Tomas's thoughts.
Jerking his head up and instinctively taking a step back, Tomas glared at Donovan, who was standing with his arms crossed as he leaned back against the wall. Tomas wasn't sure how long Donovan had been watching him, but it was certainly long enough to be amused, if the look on
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