This week at the home of Five Sentence Fiction, there was a lovely prompt of something many of us have probably done on a few occasions. Just stopped right where we are, and found ourselves reading, sometimes after hours of being still.
In order to gain asylum, Isabella had agreed to lifelong servitude. She could gain refuge only through cleaning a gilded cage. The afternoons often involved returning the books used in unusual research to the shelves of the Chancellor’s private library. Inevitably, the vellum scented leather covers distracted her, and she stopped wherever she might be to dream through the words on the page. No matter what the spine said, to her, each book was named “Paradise”.