Page 12 of Magical Mission
The library had always been a place of comfort for me. The hum of old magic, the scent of ancient paper and leather, and the way the lantern light flickered across the worn pages made everything feel timeless and sacred.
My grandma wandered off, and I took a deep breath and sat alone at one of the long wooden tables. I let the weight of the blank mission statement eat at me a little bit.
My grandma had left me to my thoughts, giving me space in a way only she could—silent, graceful, a lingering presence that didn’t hover but never truly left.
The sprites still hovered close, fussing over the books, arranging scrolls, bringing me mugs of tea I never remembered asking for.
Yet, the library felt too big.
Too empty.
Too much like a place holding its breath.
Until this moment, I hadn’t felt this level of anticipation and expectation.
Frustration prickled under my skin. I tapped my fingers against the blank page. Words usually came easily to me. But this? This felt… monumental. Like I had to get it perfect. Like the Academy’s future hinged on every letter.
My head thudded softly against the table. “Come on, Maeve. Just write something.”
But all that echoed in my head was static.
Until I heard the unmistakable sound of tiny feet pattering frantically down the hallway.
I lifted my head just in time to see Twobble barrel into the library, a new hat askew, his vest flapping behind him like a hero in one of his beloved pulp adventure tales.
He skidded to a stop at the edge of the table, breathing hard, eyes wide.
“Twobble?” I blinked at him. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
His mouth opened, and for a heartbeat, I braced for some disaster, maybe the stove in his room had exploded or the bedsheets had turned into snakes.
But instead, he rubbed at his eyes and muttered, “It’s too quiet.”
My heart squeezed.
“Oh, Twobble…”
“It’s creepy,” he admitted, almost whispering now. “The wing’s all echo-y and… I dunno. Big. Goblins aren’t used to that much space, you know? Usually, we have cousins stacked up in every corner, snoring and bickering. Even the shadows feel lonely.”
I pushed back my chair and reached for him without thinking.
“Come here, you ridiculous goblin,” I said softly.
He scrambled up onto the chair beside me, curling into himself, his oversized hat drooping over his ears as he huffed dramatically. “Don’t get any ideas. I’m just here for… educational enrichment.”
“Of course you are.”
But I wasn’t fooling myself.
Neither was he.
I reached for one of the spare wool blankets the library seemed to conjure when needed and draped it over his shoulders.
“Better?”
He grunted. “A little.”
Almost immediately, the book sprites descended, chattering excitedly as they brought over a thick, well-worn book and plopped it onto the table in front of him.
