Snippet #1684206

Pale light swirled down through high windows, dust spiraling through the beams before vanishing in the air. Below, dark wood shelves lined the walls, curving slightly to fit along the slightly rounded walls. Thick books, bound in leather, with golden gilding down the side, weighed down the shelves, in many cases also bearing a load of dust and cobwebs. The lower library housed the old texts, many of them with faded writing and bloated pages, showing signs of neglect. Visitors were few, mostly scholars seeking a specific book for reference or lost visitors hoping to find their way back to their room. The girl illuminated in one of the beams, however, was the only one to visit regularly.

Lips moving silently as she attempted a particularily difficult bit of translation, Princess Emiko Misaki de Medlimar twirled a pale pink strand of hair around one finger, staring intently at the huge yellowing book sitting before her on the table. This area alone was dust-free, although some clung to the edges of the book the princess was engrossed in. The girl was dwarfed by the armchair she sat in, which she had dragged over from the other side of the room some time ago.

Emiko was relaxed in this room, probably the only time she ever was. No one bothered her here, probably because she went to some lengths to avoid letting her maids, the only ones who sought her out regularly, know where she went. She knew that others knew, but as long as the three girls who waited on her were kept in the dark, she could read alone. Originally, the allure of this room lay in its privacy, and in its mystique. After a while, though, Emiko had discovered a love for these books, and all the knowledge they could impart. She had read almost all of the books written in her native tounge, and after a year or more of studying, she had puzzled out how to read many of the others, which were written in an older form of that dialect, sharing a few words, but not many.

Now, she stood slowly, slipper-clad feet taking her weight after a long period of rest, skirts falling into place with a swishing of the cloth, pink curls swinging. She closed the book, leaving it on the table, and walked slowly towards the door. She brushed lingering bits of dust from her skirts as she stepped out the door.

Walking down the hall, she listened for approaching footsteps. As she hurried up the stairs, she hoped she wouldn't have to see her mother today. Her frustration and anger were freshly aroused by what she had read, and she stalked down the halls, as well as a short, pink-haired girl in frothy pink and white skirts could.