I ran my fingers along the spines of the old books and breathed in the smell of the yellowing paper housed between crumbling covers. It was quieter in here; I liked it and savoured the peace it offered. I could imagine sitting in here, the fire roaring by my side as I sat curled up in Benjamin Garrick's armchair with a book in my lap. For a brief moment, I yearned for that, remembering the time when I used to sit on my balcony, with my legs propped up on the railings and feeling the sunlight on my face as I read and watched the world go by. How much I had watched and how little I had seen. I heard the faintest of footsteps behind me and I whirled around to find Garrick standing there, so close that when he reached out a hand I instinctively sucked in a breath, but instead he reached up and
