I had imagined a few crowded bookshelves, but not this. This was an actual library. I’d never seen anything like it. The floors were a perfectly polished hardwood. Though every wall was covered with shelving, the room was not dark like I would have assumed. Instead, the ceilings were littered with skylights—admitting a naturally filtered light to illuminate every square inch of it. I stood in one place, turning in a circle to take it all in. One shelf in particular caught my eye. Though there was order to every linear space, the books on this shelf seemed to be set apart—almost like a shrine. They were red hardbacks, gold lettering down the spines—five in total. I walked toward them. “The Quinton Chronicles…by Everett Jr.,” I said, moving my hand over the spine of each volume. That title jogged a memory. I’d seen these books before at Rosie’s house. She had raved about them, but there was something else she had said. I narrowed my eyes, trying to remember what it was.
What do You think about All Who Dream (Letting Go)?
