Botan POV
We come into the expansive library with towering bookshelves, carved from dark mahogany and inlaid with gold leaf. A spiraling glass staircase climbs the shelves, granting access to the higher tiers. The centerpiece is a circular reading nook, encased in a dome of faceted glass that filters sunlight into a spectrum of soft, enchanting hues. Plush armchairs upholstered in velvet the color of midnight.
A sharp scream—my hand flies to my gun.
Avara runs out of an aisle like a junkie and this is a room full of crack.
Swiveling around, she shouts, "There are so many books!" She pauses to glance back at me before her eyes leap to another bookcase. "Can I read one?"
"In due time, you might read them all—they are yours, after all."
She freezes, and her eyes seize a breath from my lungs. "What do you mean by that?"
I step aside to introduce everyone. "Avara, this is Martha. My grandmother."