For my readers who knew nothing of me, yet welcomed me into their hearts,
And for her, the one who opened mine.
I picked up the quill from it's final resting spot as I finished the dedication. The soft touch of feathers upon my chin stirred me from my usual trance. I could see the ink seeping into the tanned page, my thoughts coming to terms with their new home.
The words sunk into the paper like my tired eyes setting into aged sockets. I leaned back in my chair, making the ground groan against its worn, wooden feet. The room was silent.
I could never catch the time in that room. Perhaps it was because in there existed multiple times, people, and worlds. I need not hear the reminiscent click of the second hand, for it was off beat to the pace of mine own thoughts.
My sanctuary was without windows. I suppose there was no space on the walls after I lined every surface with books. There was a thesaurus here and a dictionary there, but my library consisted mostly of poetry coll