Wednesday Night Writing Exercise: Malora at the Library

This one was done as a simple character in natural environment sketch—though in Malora’s case, I’m not entirely sure it’s so much her natural environment as the environment Lian usually sees her in. (It also kicked off some interesting observations on the proto-sentiences of books, but I’m going to sit on that for a while; I’m still not sure if it fits my vision.)

She should have her own workshop, but most often I see her in the library—sitting in the window or with her back against the shelves, her robe carefully arranged around her, her lap covered in brightly colored silk, all her focus on her needle. I had wondered at first if she was reading while she sewed, as my grandmother did until her eyes abandoned her, but no. And yet as she passed the shelves I would see her run her fingers along a spine here, smile at an exposed cover there. Then too, the librarians do not simply tolerate her, as they do many of our peers. The eldest do not even keep her at the arm’s length mandated by her family’s own disdain for her. They do not converse with her, for she does not converse, but they will drop a few words as they straighten their shelves, and sometimes leave her with scrolls I have never seen her read, and her eyes will follow them as her hands continue stitching. She does not join the conversations, nor the squabbles for the books; she does not ask questions; she is simply there.

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