The ancient room she'd been summoned to melted away. Morphed rather. One wall became a lattice work of glass, the harsh glare of the sun streaming. It was almost distorted, too bright for the room and windows. To her right and left, she knew oh she just knew stood two walls of full bookshelves. They were mahogany, like the long desk she stood behind of and full to the brim with books of every manor and shape. Some small, some large, some leather bound, some hastily stapled together and shoved into binders. One section was all pictures going farther back than her brain could comprehend.

The ceiling vaulted above her, the old timbers of the building showing through and adding even more dramatic pause to the space. Beneath her feet lay a rich area rug of ivory, gold and magenta that had been placed over the hard wood floor.

"She has a right to know, you know. Just as everyone has had," the voice was quiet, muffled by the heavy door across the space, and distinctly male. She quickly ducked behind the desk, crawling into a small hidden compartment she'd been shown when she was younger. She looked out of the small hidden glass window as the door opened.

He walked in first. He was a tall burly man of almost seventy years now. His presence commanded all attention and he spoke with a quiet voice that silenced a room. But to her, he was the world and more, telling her fantastical stories, and letting her in on all the important business meetings. His white hair was cropped short around his ears, bright lilac eyes looking into the room. A frown graced his features, one that worried Mary. Her grandfather held the door open to let in Mary's mother.

Her mother was younger than she remembered, though the scowl on her face was something she new all too well. The woman walked in, closing the door behind her.

"Know what exactly? That you're not.... " her grandmother's voice cut out unexpectedly before resuming again. "She's seven. She won't understand. You tell her all these fantastical stories for what? They're not true regardless of how much you think they are." There was malice in her voice, and terror began to fill Mary.

There was a heavy sigh. "Tracey, even if they're just stories... shouldn't she be allowed to do what she will with them? Listen to them, enjoy them, expand on them. You know how her mind works. You know---" His voice cut out again, but she could see his mouth moving.

What was he saying!? She should know what he was staying, she should be able to hear it! But why...

There was a heavy thud and she saw her grandfather stumble and land on the hard floor. A gasp flew from Mary's mouth and her mother froze, eyes locked on her position.

No. No no no. She didn't want to remember this. She didn't want to see this again.

Arga... help me... she pleaded silently, watching her mother's boots come closer and closer.

This was better forgotten, no, she needed this to be forgotten. It had to be. She had to forget it. She had to forget it again.

Abruptly, like she was jolted out of her daze, the ancient room exploded back into view. She hugged herself and forced down all the feelings, all the memories that had forced their way up into her mind.

She couldn't touch them. They weren't to be touched.

Not now.

Not ever.