Fantastical-Character muse

A red-rimmed eye, blackened sky.

I hate rhymes.

I hate old language spoken in rough voices. It sounds splintered, brittle. It's the rock that sinks instead of skips, the roughness of the raw carrot that takes your tooth.

Heavy tome, musty smells, the library has all that it could have but it doesn't. There is no more excited laughter, none of the giggling of slipping silkworms into book covers and making a book dance with a gust of wind. There's too much peace and quiet, barring the sound of clashing metal and wood below her ears. It's cold in the library, making the musk burn her nose.

The whine is louder now that she's turned the page.

"You don't like it when I read here, alone?"

Another whine, and she closes the book to stroke behind the creature's ears. "You're a sweet child, to worry. But we all need the peace."

He licks her palms, eager, loving, placing his head in her small lap like it's the only thing he has ever needed in his life.

She smiles. "You can be such a naughty child too."

The wolf merely snuffles, not even despondent, just seemingly content with the fact that her hands were on his head, and he had her attention. It was almost cute, in a solemn sort of way. She continues to stroke his fur, humming a nursery tune. There is a loud shout from below and she looks to see a broadsword soar to stick into the earth. Someone laughs, another panics, and her wolf sniffs.

"I can't take you seriously when you look like that."

Cain whines and she laughs a girlish laugh, tweaking his snout. "Behave and I'll read to you." He curls at her feet, and she lowers herself from the chair to rest against his fur. Like that, they sit until it's too dark to see and someone finds them sleeping with the light of a candle.