Her desk was simple, perpetually bathed in a soft, downward light, and on it sat a single, weathered wooden bowl.
He left the bowl behind, knowing that in the Silent Library, his echo was no longer screaming, but merely waiting, beautifully, for a time when he was ready to hear it again without pain. 5432588_035.jpg
One evening, a man named Silas came to her. He didn't speak, he only placed his hand over the bowl, and a dull, grey stone materialized in her hand. It was heavier than the others. Her desk was simple, perpetually bathed in a