The Library - Eighth Story

‘That’s pretty,’ she thought when she picked up the little transparent pebble. Its deep red gleam looked spirited in the bright light of the sun; it felt warm to the touch, and despite its heaviness, reminded her of amber. She sat down on one of the flat rocks at the end of the white pebble path to study it at length, turning it on all sides, trying to figure out what it was and how it got there. It wasn’t larger than an acorn and if she didn’t know any better, she’d have thought it was beach glass. Or a gemstone, maybe? Was this place an abandoned gemstone mine at some point, and if so, was that a ruby? She quickly abandoned the idea, because the tactile experience of the material was all wrong for it. The little gem tickled her palm, and she giggled, fascinated by this strange interaction with a mineral, which felt intentional, somehow, like a conversation between equals. Their little silent talk made Gwen smile, and as she sat there, communing with a rock, she didn’t even notice No. 3 standing there and watching her with a look in his eye that wavered between awe and dread.