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"This," Silas said, placing the book on a mahogany table, "is the Story of the Whispering Rain. It is a story that has no beginning and no end, only a middle that lasts forever."

Silas was not human, not entirely. He was a , built eighty years ago by a melancholic inventor who wanted his library to never sleep. Silas’s chest housed a delicate system of gears and a single, humming vacuum tube that served as his heart. ja_jij

In the city of Oakhaven, where the rain smelled faintly of ozone and old parchment, Silas ran a library that didn’t exist on any map. It was housed inside the hollowed-out carcass of a massive, decommissioned cathedral clock tower. "This," Silas said, placing the book on a

Silas understood the sadness in her voice. He knew that humans, unlike books, were fleeting. He walked her to the forbidden section, the Archive of Forgotten Moments . He pulled a book bound in velvet, not leather. Silas’s chest housed a delicate system of gears