Explorer




She wept, sometimes, when she thought of the library of Alexandria.

She could not bear the thought of all that beauty and wisdom, the treasure of ages, destroyed through carelessness.

The books surrounding her held the majority of her own small treasures. The dusty smell of old covers and disintegrating spines and the welcoming crinkle of turning pages spoke to her of riches. Things like the unimaginable blue of skies, and the painter's pallets of sunrise and sunset. Stars, sun, moon, and the wheeling planets. Clouds and mountains and grass. Smiles and flower fields.

She traced these sights with delicate fingers, turning with care the fragile pages that she would never be able to see.


Written in response to Art Stew 52 prompt: 'Vellichor' 

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