December 8th
"I used to sing here, once."

I float down the book-lined aisles, my white dress trailing behind me. I do not know who I'm talking to; perhaps it doesn't matter.

"Oh, it was marvellous," I sigh, looking up at the ornate roof high above. "All the people would lean forward when I sang, stretching from the galleries and boxes as if they could catch my words and keep them forever."

I spin, a lazy circle, the books whirling around me. I remember the lights, the music, the applause - and then it all fades away. I am between the shelves once more, the only sound the gentle rustling of pages.

"This is better," I conclude, and let go.