She sat down in the middle of the chair, her feet dangling a few inches off the ground. She was in the happiest place on earth, the World Library. She loved it here because it had books on everything from the time before the Great Purge to information on everything since. She loved the smell of the ancient books, their old leather bindings squeaking with age. She loved it.
She turned on the lamp next to her, the afternoon sun coming through the blinds too dim for her to read. She opened the book in front of her, The Ancient History of the Forest People, her people. She turned to the chapter on their magick since her mother never told her about that. She read about how their magick was deadliest of the Fae because it not only hurt their enemies but themselves as well.
She looked up from the book, the memory of how her mother died hitting her in the face. Everyone told her that she had died of an illness, but now, now Ara knew better. She knew now that all the nightmares she’s had had to do with her mother’s death. She died protecting Ara. Her magick killed her.
Ara closed the book, hating herself for looking into her mother’s death. She had always been told that knowledge was needed to survive, that it was helpful. She had never known too much knowledge to be so painful.