Circe stowed herself away in the library for the rest of the day. It had taken her a while to find it again. Once more, she had gotten lost in the maze of winding corridors and identical-looking halls. She almost let out a triumphant yelp when she finally caught sight of the familiar heavy wooden doors, its ornate carvings now a welcome relief to her fraying nerves.
Now, she sat curled up on the floor in one of the library's hidden corners, her back pressed against the rigid spine of a tall bookshelf. Dusty rays of late afternoon light filtered through the high windows, casting golden shadows across the stone floor and the open journal perched on her lap.
The leather-bound book Rowen had gifted her was already filling with sketches, and today she had added another. This one of a magpie mid-flight, its wings outstretched, its tiny feet just lifting off the ground. The lines were rough and hurried, but there was a freedom in the way the bird soared across the page.
