Stepping inside the local library is both like walking through a time capsule and over a landmine.
Sun-aged tomes, woven covers fraying at the bind, gilded letters curling at the edges, and unvarnished wood reaching the ceiling. Every crack open of a book is a window to a world. Dust colors the overcast sun rays as the scent of stagnant water seeps through paper, wood, and time.
"But could youth last, and love still breed - had joys no date, nor age no need, then these delights my mind might move to live with thee and be thy love…" Marcellus recited, a book in hand.
"And thus was the Nymph's reply to the Shepherd."
"Ouch. Where's the happy ending?" George winced from across the table.
"That's the beauty of it. She denies the Shepherd's love because she thinks there's an ending."
"Still, you'd think she'd be more… I don't know… kind? The Shepherd offered her everything he had and she just threw it away."
