Only God knew how she’d managed to complete the entire book. Sure, she’d taken more liberties with this one than usual, but then again, Lamar Toto was a wordy bastard who stuffed his books with more fluff than an air-dried Furby. She doubted anyone would notice—or care. The larger font, necessitated by her clumsy, injured hand, ensured the page count remained the same. It also helped that she lost feeling in the hand halfway through.

Felix would never find out about it, and as for the noble receiving the book? She highly doubted they’d bother to read it. Even if they did, she hadn’t left anything important out. She’d just edited it a little. Still, she should probably not stamp it with her Eid number. Sure she was the only one working here but at least she would have something to say.

Rose put the final page into place, normally she would have to delicately level every page on the glue fabric, but this was a rush order, so she only had to get it mostly right. Closing the soon to be bound book she took a small round metal bit, the words, Archekaasè dú Marchenne were outlined before an image of an open book. It was a little on the nose for her, but what else could she expect the symbols of the city library to be?

Normally, it would take days for a book to dry, be properly pressed, and set. But rush orders came with rush magic. Literal magic, that is.

In the corner of the room rested a special book press. Much like the Mystélave, this press could manipulate everything that bound a book—even lining up the pages perfectly. The device manipulated time, or baked the pages quickly, or something that took a seven day project and turned it into a seven minute task. Whatever it did, it worked flawlessly.

Much like the Mystélave, she didn’t entirely understand how it worked—and honestly, she didn’t care. She was almost done, and soon enough, she could go home.

With a groan, she lifted herself off the chair, taking a moment to steady herself and waited for the room to stop spinning. When it did just enough, She took the book in her good hand. Its weight was terrible, not heavy, but not light either. It was a bit of a struggle, especially since she was so tired every step felt weighty, but she managed to carry it to the press.

Carefully, she placed it on the golden square on top of the machine, ensuring it was in the middle, and not a hair off. Then pushed a small button on the side. A whirring sound filled the air. Rose always tried to tune this out—it ruined the magic to hear such a mechanical noise coming from a device that's supposed to be magical.

While the press lowered the book into place, she turned to fetch the cover: a ridiculously heavy iron slab that needed to be placed on top. Without it, terrible things could happen. Or so her boss said, but he said a lot of things.

It sounded like something straight out of a horror novel, and Rose wasn’t eager to test the theory, even if she knew she was in a romance novel. With a grunt, she struggled to lift the heavy lid and maneuvered it onto the press. The moment she could let go, she exhaled sharply. “Seriously, you’ve got the book sinking down—why does the cover have to come separately?”

As she complained, an indicator light shifted from red to green. She jabbed at the ‘on’ button with her thumb, pushing it harder than necessary in her frustration. A soft laugh escaped her lips as the effort hurt her more than the machine.

Flexing her thumb a few times, she realized it was bleeding—the nail had bent, cutting the skin underneath. “This just isn’t my day, is it?” she scoffed. The machine responded with a low hum, as if to mock her and Rose couldn't help but give it a glare even if she knew the sound was just it working.

With some time to spare, Rose slumped back into her chair, leaning over the table. She rested her hands on its surface, then slowly slid down, resting her head against the cold, unwelcoming wood. The pain in her hand had dulled, and the soft noise of the machine lulled her. She only meant to blink away the blurriness clouding her vision, but soon enough, her eyes drifted shut.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Her brief peace shattered with a loud buzz from the machine. Rose snapped her eyes open and bolted upright, her head whipping around. “Where…?” she muttered, blinking as she took in her surroundings. “The Scriptoriaire… ah, right.”

Shakily, she stood, using the table for support as she made her way to the press. Her eyes landed on the iron cover with disdain. “You know,” she muttered, glancing around. “Fuck it.”

Instead of lifting the lid, she gripped it and shoved it off with all her might. The iron protested with a harsh scraping noise before crashing to the floor. The weight nearly dragged her down with it, grinning as the harsh crash echoed through the room. The sound was oddly satisfying. “Been wanting to do that for years.” she said, satisfied.

In a lighter mood, she pressed the button to lift the book out of the press. As the machine whirred in response, Rose glanced around, relieved that Felix wasn’t nearby to hear the crash. She couldn’t afford to replace a broken machine—let alone dream of owning a specialized device like this.

When the press finished its work, the book rested neatly on the golden square, pristine and waiting. Just before Rose could move there was a victorious hiss and a click, the machine opened a component on the side, revealing the rather large Énerciel that powered it. The device wouldn't be able to be used again until the battery was charged. The reason they never used this unless they had to.

Rose stepped forward, her fingers brushing against the warm, smooth leather binding. The book emerged perfect, as always. Polished, seamless, flawless. The machine never disappointed, but she still needed to inspect it—just to be sure.

Removing the metal bit on top of the cover she found the library’s logo was pressed inside neatly on the corner. Tossing it to the table she picked up the book, bringing it closer to her eyes, scanning the cover, the seams, the binding. Running her fingers along the spine, she tested the glue, then flipped through the pages to check their alignment. Once again, everything was immaculate.

“The glue is glued, the seams are seamed, and the sea is… sewn,” she murmured with a small chuckle, amused by the flub she pushed out. “Sea? What Sea, I don't See Anything.” Letting out another chuckle she tucked the book under her arm and patted the machine lightly. “Good job, you magical little thing. Ah, if only I had money.” What would I do with a book press? Press books, of course. “Oh, I wonder if it could do clothes?”

“Anyways, let’s get out of here,” she muttered to herself, “Sleep is just through the door and over the floor,” She sang as she headed for the door. “Drop off the book to get off the hook, Walk all the way home so you can crawl in your bed alone, alone again and again.” With that she left the Scriptoriaire, book in hand.

Her steps were silent against the chilly stone floor as she moved through the narrow corridors toward the main library. “Of course, I still need to change out of this,” she grumbled, glancing down at her work attire. She couldn’t even keep the dress—it wasn’t hers to begin with. Changing was difficult now… perhaps she would be able to get away with her overdress in the dark that was to come? It was cold, sure, but she was so tired.

She pushed open the doors that lead to the main hall, stepping inside the dim, expansive room. The warm glow of magical lights lined the walls, flickering like torches in a castle. Despite their charm, they felt dim and unwelcoming, nothing like the bright, practical lights of the Scriptoriaire.

Rose often wondered about this contrast. Were the Scriptoriaire’s lights expensive? Or were these just cheap? She knew her boss was, but she doubted she’d ever get an answer. “Not that I care,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

The flickering lights illuminated towering shelves packed with tomes that lined the entryway. Twenty-four shelves stood in neat rows, each holding roughly a hundred books, depending on their size. By most standards, 2,400 books wasn’t much for a library—but this was only the main floor. There was storage in the back for books that would never see the light of day, as well as private rooms for the nobles. Those rooms were rarely used, and might as well not exist at all. But Rose did manage to sneak a nap inside them every now and then so she wouldn't argue.

Not that anyone would listen.

Rose approached the librarian’s desk, intent on dropping the book into the bin beneath it, but her eyes landed on Felix. Her lips tightened as their gazes met, and he waved her over, before turning back to the shadow of a man standing beside him. She cursed softly under her breath, irritation bubbling up.