hesitation is defeat
A private library, exclusive to the royal family! What an honour. A privilege bestowed out of extreme gratitude for their service — “Better or worse than another velvet duvet?” Ishida had elbowed Bernard after the invitation had been extended to the pair.
Whatever his answer, Ishida almost forgot it the moment the door opened and the guard stepped away. It was so cozy, so intimate, so ornate, that it seemed a nook carved out of fairytales. Shelves and shelves of intelligently architected design were filled with texts ranging from ancient days, hidden secrets, misprints, and eventually organized themselves into digital, more modern renditions.
At first, they’d excitedly poured through the titles, prickling their fingers long spines and pulling ones of interest out, flashing the titles to one another before greedily just reading themselves and stacking them into their cradled arms and setting down for a few hours of digesting.
Ishida had needed a break for air about an hour in and gone to practice a routine with her swords instead of losing herself to words any further. But now she was back, and the light had shifted in the small space.
The library was so small that it was almost exclusively lit by the wide, single-story window that filled the space with broad and yellow afternoon light. It was so amber, that the daylight changed the spines of ancient texts to golden rods.
On a bench seat beneath the impressive stretch of glass, Ishida sat cross-legged and faced the bench beneath the window to benefit from two things:
One — the natural light.
Two — the tiny compact settled on the flat of the cushion that wasn’t overtaken by books yet.
The mirror was small, no larger than the size of her fist, but it was enough. Any amount of reflection she could see helped with precision, and with a few seconds of undisturbed concentration, she traced the line of her lid and extended the line beyond the corner of her eye into a black, inky wing. To further emphasize its shape, she moved the pen to create a tiny 'v' in the inner corner, bringing it out slightly toward her nose to resemble the shape of a vulptex’s.
She blinked and moved on to the other when she was satisfied with one eye.
When both had wings with a sharpness was to her liking, she clicked the compact shut and folded her elbows on the cushion, and propped her head up with a hand, looking over to Bernard buried in a book.
“What are you reading?”
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