Chapter Text
Marcel was not a bookish person.
He wasn’t one to read in his spare time, he didn’t keep books at home, and had never set foot in a library since finishing school. He couldn’t even remember the last book he’d read besides the compulsory officer training textbooks.
It wasn’t a hateful grudge. Unlike many civilians, he could read just fine, and opening a book didn’t stir any particular negative emotions. It was simply that he didn’t find books particularly interesting.
Long ago, when he’d tried to get into reading, he still found it hard. Every book he picked up just seemed to sound the same. The same story, same characters, same endings. He couldn’t understand why other people found them so fascinating.
So why, exactly, he found himself wandering into The Federal Giad Archive, he didn’t know.
The smothering warmth of the old, lavish building was welcome after the chilly weather outside. Early spring was really just a snowless winter in Giad, and this time of year people still had to don their coats when braving the elements. But once inside, Marcel shrugged off his steel-grey overcoat, tucking it under his arm as he entered the foyer.
To the right was a study area for the public, with rows of desks lined up to face enormous arched windows. Grey sunlight angled fuzzy shadows onto the carpeted floor. To the left were bookshelves for perusing and plush chairs for visitors to sit while they read.
And right in front of him was the information desk. Behind it rose a wide wooden staircase leading up to the mezzanine level, which encircled the foyer on all sides, save the entrance.
Marcel hesitated in his step, still unsure of what brought him here in the first place. He was two seconds away from just leaving all together, when a voice called out to him.
“Do you need any help there, sir?”
Marcel froze like he’d been caught committing a crime. What crime? The crime of being in a library when you didn’t want to be, maybe?
He turned towards the voice, taking note of the young woman walking up to him. She had short, wavy brown hair and striking green eyes behind round glasses. If he recalled, from his brief glance, it was one of the librarians at the information desk. He’d probably looked so dumbfounded in a place like this that the librarian couldn’t help but assist him.
After realising he had stood there staring silently for far too long, a few words tumbled out of his mouth. “Sorry, I’m just… lost.”
The woman smiled as warmly as the room. “I understand. Just tell me what you’re looking for and I’ll show you where you can find it.”
“No, I—” Marcel’s coat slipped from his arm only a touch, but for some reason he scrambled to get it back in place. “I’m not looking for anything in particular…” Inwardly he was groaning, but in the spirit of politeness, he collected himself and forced his feet not to bolt from the place.
The woman’s smile didn’t falter one bit, and her short brown hair bobbed as she tilted her head knowingly. “I see. Then would you like a recommendation? Or shall I leave you to browse?”
Marcel’s head was reeling. He didn’t have the sharp-wittedness to formulate a way to tell the lady he wanted to leave while also having to answer the questions she kept throwing at him.
“I-I’ll just see if I can figure it out myself,” he stammered.
The librarian pushed up her glasses, replying with a courteous, “Of course. Take all the time you need.”
As the librarian returned to the information desk, Marcel started for the exit, but paused when he heard an unfamiliar string of words from a high-pitched voice.
“Hermana, mira esto,” whispered a girl.
A girl as young as Nina.
She was seated on the wooden desk, looking up at the brown-haired librarian that had just talked to Marcel.
“Per favor no hagas eso, Amelia,” sighed the librarian, but she caressed the child’s head affectionately.
Something about the scene struck Marcel. His chest began to ache with a familiar sadness, eventually melting into that usual hollowness that seemed to grow a little more every day.
Oh… That’s why I came here…
His footsteps were muffled by the foyer rug as he approached the desk.
“Excuse me,” he said, a little shyer than he thought he’d ought to be.
The librarian he’d spoken to turned around, pushing up her glasses once again. Marcel offered her an awkward smile.
“Um… Where are your children’s books?”