Lucille heard a screech as she wandered into the library and ducked as a jet-black bat swooped out of nowhere and around the room.

She was early for the normal book-club, but she needed to find a book filled with colour pictures of Anne Boleyn. Lucille worried that if the other members of the club saw her reaching for a book that wasn’t in their ‘safe’ pile, they would never let her into the library again. That was her biggest fear: never being able to read again.

Lucille was an out-of-work artist. She loved the pieces of Kings and Queens that she drew, but, it seemed, no-one else loved them. She owned a small studio downtown, and the flat above it, but the rent would soon have to be paid and she was also running out of money to pay her student debts.

Lucille had poker straight long blonde hair the colour of cream that ran down her back like a frozen river. She had a small nose, but big lips and round ‘all-seeing’ eyes that were the colour of polished slate. Sometimes she limped as her left leg was covered with many scratches, painful and red, that, for some strange reason, did not heal.

Logic puzzles were Lucille’s second favourite pastime (painting being the first) and, (though she hated to admit it) she was also a bit of a of a chess freak. Reading, though, was not just a past time; it was a passion! Since the library closed, the midnight book-club was the only place that Lucille could get her weekly ‘fix’ of reading. Unfortunately, often, work had to come first.

So now she was here, making her way calmly towards the Historical Stories section of the abandoned library, hoping that, this time, someone might notice her artwork and give her a break from all the stress. Well, Lucille was calm…until the figure standing in the shadows startled her.

“Xavier?” Lucille raised her well-shaped eyebrows, “What are you doing here?”

The End

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