Chapter 17: Alice's discovery
She left the house-elves with her pockets full of tasty treats and temper still high. That snotty, selfish, idiot. His jeering face formed once again in her mind's eye. Thinking he looked cool with his dirty blonde hair all messy like that, sticking up all over his stupid head. She stopped in front of the Fat Lady, not having realized where her feet were leading her.
"Tinsel," Alice said, sighing as the painting swung open. She sat in front of the fire, rummaging through her bag. Her hands closed on a small book. She pulled it out, curiously. The cover was rough and worn, the title's ink faded to the extent that she could barely make out what it said.
"The Sparrow's Cry by Shelby Hill,"
She opened the book, flipping slowly to the first chapter. It Read:
"The coolness of winter air. The puckering taste of lemons. The delicate petals of a flower. The glitter of life in the eye. Our world is full of sensations, of life. Everything around us moves and breathes and suffers. Everything. You, Me, even that tree. If only we would stop to listen."
Alice raised her eyebrows.
"What kind of book is this," She said aloud to herself. She flipped aimlessly through more pages when she saw it. That the crisp yellow pages were occasionally decorated with pen. Someone had apparently read this book, a lot. The first note was written on the third page, cramped in the margin.
"Feelings are relative. You can't place the same value of a human on a bug."
Alice rubbed her finger gently along the words, noting the way the writer looped the "g" and the "y". She opened the book to its center, sniffing the pages. There was the classic papery smell, but something more, pine perhaps. She found herself breathing it in deeply, the fire warming her. Her eyes slowly drooped closed.
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