Lass lounged in a chair in the library, a little bit of light filtered in from the window as the light moved out of the way for the night. The chair was an old, its once carmine color was faded by days gone by, the wooden claws scratched from the various uses of other students sitting, as well as the occasional dragging across the floor. In some ways it reminded Lass of her old home, before coming to Amity, or at least it was the few memories she could recall before Amity. The smell of musty books, most of them if not all were written on velum with every word written by the perfect skill of a script. The start of each chapter had beautiful elegant letter, flourished with the skillful detail and vibrant colors. The covers all various colors of leather, even the stitching was a craft. It had taken years for her, ever since she could afford her small home for her to collect them but books were really her only treasure.

They contained knowledge, knowledge of different people, different worlds, different things that memory and time could slip away. From the floor to the ceiling her walls were lined with shelves holding hundred’s of books. She wouldn’t have admitted to them all being gained legally but she had little concern for such rules. There was even a shelf for scrolls, some far older than she was that smelt of a distant land. She had spent a lot of time learning how to read some of the dead languages, know she could hardly recalled them and that bothered her deeply. With classes and trying to regain her illusion abilities it was hard for her to find time to learn new languages.

Of course she had other things to in her home, it was a simple two-room cottage made just for her, so there wasn’t a lot. She had a modest wooden table with two stools they were rather old and had of course seen better days but they were worn to the perfect comfort and Lass had memorized every little scratch on the surface. There was a small fireplace, the only spot on her wall that didn’t have a book shelf, with the necessary cooking utensils and her favorite teapot with the un-matching teacup and saucer. The teacup was a small rose pattern design carved into the surface, it didn’t have a handle and lacked the sophistication of today’s teacups. Still the little cup was what she always chose to drink her tea out of. The saucer was merely a dark green plate, there was a small chip where she had dropped it on the ground but it had stood up. It was also rather crudely made compared to today standards. The floor was a mix of stone and hard dirt like most of the smaller cottages in the town, but next to the table was a small woven mat she had made. She had always avoided throwing rush on the ground, the smell and dust from it annoyed her.

There was another mat that stayed next to her bed, it was rather a fancier bed, not one would expect in such a humble cottage. It was a gift, or at least that was what she told others, along with the matching chair that sat near the fireplace. Sometimes when she was bored she would make the comment that they were spoils of war or that her former noble loved had given them to her as a parting gift when he was forced to marry some love. One of them was true, and she never would admit to which one, so it was more amusing to see them figure it out. It was so quiet there, peaceful, a place that even as a door slammed in the library she missed.