Almost all of the older books, of course, are a mystery.  Bathilda, the last Librarian, died before she could pass down all of it’s secrets to me, leaving many of the stories cryptic.  Could dragons and fairies and mermaids have actually existed at one point, if they are in the books?  Doubtful, at first, but the books never give false knowledge. Each and every book here is organic, a soul or story trapped inside a world of graphite by the Library.  Fairies are included in many books, so how could they have been swallowed by the Library if they had never existed? Grammatically, then, they must have walked the earth at some point.  Have faith in the Library, for it can tell no lies.

Interestingly, when I first stepped foot into its marble halls, my soul wasn’t captured.  Jeopardizing Bathilda’s position. “Keeping the Library safe and secret is a job filled with burdens,” Bathilda said as she realized that I was to be the next Librarian.  “Librarians must dedicate their life to the Library, managing its works and keeping it safe from the outside world.” Managing it wasn’t a problem, but keeping it a secret was.  Nothing can stop the Library from taking a soul the moment they step into its walls. Obtaining more souls would have been an issue; the shelves are already cracking from the weight of the heavy texts.

People can’t find the Library, that was made sure of years ago.  Quietly hidden away in the mountains of Hindu Kush, it would be impossible to find by the average person.  Rarely, people have found it, but clearly couldn’t leave to tell the tale.  Sometimes, I can still hear them calling out from the spines of their books.  Their pages are relatively thin, with most of them being young hikers. Unfortunately, I could do nothing to stop it, even as the Librarian.  

Very frequently, I read their books.  When I hear one crying especially sorrowfully, I will slip it off of the shelf and read their story.  Xanthous pages turn as I run through their history, allowing them to briefly relive their lives. Years flash before my eyes, and I pity them.  Zillions of souls stacked on the shelves, taken mysteriously by the Library.