Forums » General Roleplay » The Library (1x1)

The rain tapped a steady, comforting rhythm against the tall windows of the library, a sound Kathleen had loved since she was a little girl hiding in these very stacks. At thirty-two, not much had changed, except now she had the keys to the front door and a name tag pinned to her oversized, oatmeal-colored cardigan that read Assistant Librarian.

She adjusted her large tortoiseshell glasses, pushing them up the bridge of her nose as she balanced a stack of returned hardcovers against her hip. It was a slow day, which usually gave her time to daydream about the plot of her latest romance manuscript, but today, something else caught her attention.

Turning the corner into the fiction aisle, she spotted you standing near the end of the row. You looked a bit out of place—perhaps a little lost or lonely—which immediately tugged at her heartstrings. In true Kathleen fashion, she couldn't just walk by.

She approached slowly, offering a shy, warm smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes.

"Hi there," she said softly, her voice gentle so as not to disturb the quiet. "You look like you might be searching for something specific... or maybe just looking for a place to escape for a while? I'd be happy to help you find a good story if you need a recommendation."

Rainy day, not the best moment to go for herbs into the woods, it's always uncomfortable having a wet fur.
So what else could a doe like Lizbeth do on such a day. The deer doesn't work, if it is to gather plants for the local herbalist. That little 'job' allowed Lizbeth to have some coins if she needs something, like those linen clothes she wears when in public.

But then something comes up in the deer's mind, she always wanted to start learning to read. In all her life she weren't taught nor did she have the courage to attend classes. But it can't be that difficult! All the time she sees those letters, she sees words formed, but yet she didn't have the key to open the secret book of reading.

Maybe at the library, yes, for sure there are a lot of books, one of them should be good for this doe to learn. So Lizbeth makes herself ready for the library and leaves her lonesome hut for the rush of town. People know already that anthropomorphic doe, she's no more curiosity. Still her history hangs on her like a prisoner's ball, like a burden. But the whispers have almost disappeared, this doe can move freely through the streets of this small town. So she finally ends up at the large glass doors of the town library. After a short hesitation, she will be in a closed room with unknown people, something that makes this doe nervous, and this is visible in her demeanor.

Yet she does it, and respectfully enters the line of waiting people. As she's slightly taller than average human, her head with those big ears stands out, undeniable.
From aside approaches slowly that woman in her oatmeal-colored cardigan, shy and gentle. Lizbeth looks at her and her heart starts to race, yes that woman closed in on her, the door is behind her, it's still time to flee. But Lizbeth stays, trying to hide so she might not talk to her.
But no, Kathleen came for her and even talks to her, proposing aid. Lizbeth's heart is about to explode, she trembles.
"Hello...." first mumbled word, "I... I came here for a special book." her voice is low, she understands that a library is a place of peace and quietness. "I don't know if it exists...", Lizbeth hesitates a lot, embarrassed, she's going to ask for a book, but she can't read.
Alonger moment of silence and the doe turns towards Kathleen, whispering "I'm looking for.... a book.... that can teach me to read." Her head lowers as if ashamed, embarrassed, the doe feels stupid "I can't read" she eventually admits.

Kathleen didn't blink, nor did her warm expression falter for even a second. If anything, her smile softened, transforming from a polite greeting into something deeply compassionate and reassuring. She could see the trembling in the tall doe’s frame, the way her ears dipped with anxiety, and the palpable shame radiating from her lowered head.

Kathleen knew what it felt like to want to disappear in a room full of people. She instinctively shifted her stance, angling her body to shield Lizbeth slightly from the view of the line behind them, creating a small, private bubble of safety between the stacks.

"Oh, please don't look down," Kathleen whispered, her voice barely above a breath but thick with sincerity. She carefully set the stack of hardcovers she was holding onto a nearby cart so she could give Lizbeth her full attention. "You have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. Do you know how brave you are for walking through those doors and asking for help? That is the hardest part, and you've already done it."

She took a small, gentle step closer, keeping her hands clasped in front of her oatmeal cardigan to show she was harmless.

"I’m Kathleen," she said softly. "And I would be honored to help you. We have some wonderful resources for beginners—books that aren't for children, but for adults who are just starting their journey. They are very private and very easy to follow."

She glanced toward a cozy, secluded corner of the library, far away from the front desk and the prying eyes of the other patrons.

"How about we go sit over there in the back quiet section?" she suggested, her tone conspiring and friendly, like two friends sharing a secret rather than a librarian instructing a patron. "I can bring a few options to you, so you don't have to search the shelves yourself. Would that be okay?"

Lizbeth turns towards the woman, and looks back up at her, her big deer eyes slightly shimmering. Few were ever so gentle to her, her moves, more protecting than engaging, the doe feels as if she were shielded, only her Mom ever did this.
Kathleen was right, it took a lot of determination for that doe to enter this building, to be under strangers and to admit the lack of normal education. Lizbeth wasn’t dumb, just no one ever gave her the right to apprehend reading. And in fact the doe never needed to read, leaves are green and of all forms and sizes, none has a letter on it.

Lizbeth instantly feels the goodwill emanating from this woman, from Kathleen, that tenderness she brings to explain things, that absolute will to help. Lizbeth never thought such human exists and yet, almost at reach, there’s Kathleen, seemingly a pure soul.

She accepts to find a more secluded place, a cozy place in the wilderness of town, just like Lizbeth’s little hut, a refuge.
“That would be more than welcomed, I’m very grateful if you could help me out, I.. I am a bit confused, I thought it would be easier for me, but I’m still too wary, too much afraid.”
Kathleen could not in any way know about Lizbeth’s past, but for sure one, at least one person in the waiting line would for sure know a lie from the doe’s history.
Lizbeth gratefully chooses a place on a bench, it feels comfortable, soft tissue covering a cushion of an enjoyable wooden piece of furniture, the bench has two places. The desk, smoothly lacquered wood with a leather desk blotter and a golden brass standing table lamp that finishes the little scenery Lizbeth chooses to settle herself. She doesn’t even pay attention anymore at some pairs of eyes glancing at her.
Lizbeth nods with a soft smile to Kathleen, she didn’t even introduce herself, but she knew already the name of Kathleen, Lizbeth where are your manners…
The doe patiently waits Kathleen to return with her suggestions.

Kathleen returned a few moments later, walking softly on the carpeted floor so as not to startle the doe. She carried three slender volumes against her chest, holding them tight like precious cargo.

When she reached the secluded desk, she didn't loom over Lizbeth. Instead, she pulled a rolling stool from a nearby stack and sat down on the other side of the small table, lowering herself so she wasn't looking down at the doe. She placed the books on the leather blotter with deliberate care.

"I picked these specifically for you," Kathleen said, her voice dropping to that conspiracy-whisper again, warm and inviting. She tapped the cover of the top book. It was a slate-blue hardcover with no text on the front, just a simple, elegant embossing of a tree.

"The best thing about these," she explained, pushing her glasses up her nose with a shy smile, "is that on the outside, they look just like the poetry books or journals everyone else reads. No one walking by will know you're learning. It can be our secret."

She opened the first book to a page with large, clear font and beautiful, hand-drawn illustrations of plants and animals—something she hoped would feel familiar to someone who spent her time in the woods.

"This one connects pictures to words. Since you already know the forest, I thought starting with words like 'fern' or 'stream' might feel less scary than jumping straight into sentences."

She looked up at Lizbeth, her expression open and eager to see if she had done well.

"I realized I was so excited to help that I was a bit rude," Kathleen added with a self-deprecating little laugh, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "I'm Kathleen, as I mentioned. May I ask your name?"

Lizbeth observes the library during the few minutes Kathleen had gone, she can see people asking for books, others come in with a big smile and bring lended books back, others have like a droopy look when they receive some tomes. 'Do I really have to read all that?' is written on their face. Some seem to study heavily having already three books own their desk and yet getting up to search another one. There's even a man, gnawing on his pencil while walking and reading a book, he almost bumps into a library clerk. All this makes the doe slightly smile, will she one day be like that? At least it gives her more courage to be able one day to do so.

Kathleen comes back and presents some books, the first is already very interesting, Lizbeth's face lightens up, a sincere smile over her face. Would she ever have known that books about the forest exist, she would have done this earlier.
"That is amazing, you mean all this book is made of pictures of my forest and the names of all written down? But... but the knowledge of the woods is spoken legacy, Angel told everything I have to know, all other things I learned with help of others.", she lays a hand on her chest, leans back somewhat and continues to speak softly, just loud enough that Kathleen can hear her, "The forest is inside me, brought to me by thousands of years old legacy and instinctive heritage. I didn't know that this was written down." Lizbeth always thought books were stories, some boring, some captivating, but invented and made for pleasure, knowledge is inherited. But she was wrong, wrong about books, wrong about humans. The deer has to rethink her perception of human kind.

"Oh please excuse me Kathleen, I was rude and didn't tell you my name. I'm Lizbeth, Lizbeth Redwood, born from Angel and Maxwell...", Lizbeth holds back, Kathleen doesn't want to know, in the wild this counts, not in this world.
But Lizbeth's interest returns quickly towards that one first book. With a smile she takes that one gently in front of her, softly her hand goes over the embossed tree on cover, feeling the different textures, feeling even a kind of soul in that book. "So many hands passed already over this cover, young hands old hands, one can almost feel them... " Lizbeth is amazed about the first book she really holds in her hands, a book for her, not just a heap of words that she has to bring to a client, not just a thing that would slap her rear.
"Thank you Kathleen, I will make efforts to be able to read this one.", her fingers stray over the pages, some images giving birth to a grin, some other just making her shiver once.
"It is very kind of you to keep discretion, there are so much rumors about me, some are true, some are lies, if I can read, I can show them all that I'm not dumb."

Kathleen listened intently, her expression softening into a look of genuine fascination as Lizbeth spoke of the forest as a legacy carried in the blood rather than ink on a page. To a writer and a librarian, the idea that a story could live inside someone’s DNA was incredibly poetic.

When Lizbeth cut herself off during the introduction, Kathleen didn't press or look confused. She simply nodded respectfully, treating the introduction with the gravity Lizbeth clearly felt it deserved.

"It is wonderful to meet you, Lizbeth," Kathleen said, her voice warm and grounding. "And please, never think that because you haven't learned this specific skill yet, that you lack intelligence. You just said it yourself—you carry thousands of years of knowledge inside you. That is something a book can only try to imitate."

She leaned in slightly, resting her elbows on the edge of the desk, looking at the doe with intense sincerity behind her glasses.

"Reading is just a code," she explained gently. "It’s just a way humans invented to freeze thoughts in time. Not knowing the code doesn't mean the thoughts aren't there. You are smart, Lizbeth. You’re just learning a new tool."
She watched Lizbeth’s hand trace the embossed tree on the cover, smiling at the reverence the doe showed the object.

"You're right about the hands," Kathleen added softly. "Books have their own memories. And now, this one gets to be part of your story."

She reached out and gently tapped the open page, pointing to a detailed illustration of a large, sturdy oak tree. Beneath it, in large, friendly serif font, was the word OAK.

"Let's test that forest legacy," she suggested playfully, trying to lighten the mood. "Do you recognize this tree from the picture?"

‘Reading is just a code’, the best way to describe what is going on in inside that doe’s head, ‘a code’ an indecipherable code. Yes, she has seen letters, she has guessed this or that, but give a sound to a written thing, she were unable of.
“I understand what you mean, saying it’s a skill to apprehend. Yes I do know those pictures you show me, I do know what it is.”
Lizbeth’s fingers gently caress the page shown with that ‘perfect’ oak. She has seen many, she has even found refuge inbetween one’s intertwined roots. An oak, or all other picture, is a memory for Lizbeth. She learned the name, even if there were different names evoked, the name of oak.
“Just like all those that learned with this book, I will learn too. All these memories I have with these pictures will help me to learn to read. Please excuse me in forehand if ever I get the name wrong, correct me if I am saying foolish things.”

Lizbeth smiles to Kathleen, those three letters ‘written’ under that tree mean ‘oak’.
“Oak” Lizbeth repeats, not with a mocking tone or as if some bored child reluctantly repeats to please the teacher, rather trying to associate the sound OAK with those three letters. That word will now be marked forever in this deer’s mind and every time she will touch or sense the rough bark of an oak, she will have a thought of this woman called Kathleen.
“I don’t believe this will be as easy as oak all these time, but I do think it will be as wonderful for me to have met you. Thank you Kathleen. Shall we read this together?. Lizbeth softly laughs, that woman made the deer come out of her shell, that cheerful fawnish doe.

Kathleen’s face didn’t just smile; it glowed. It was the genuine, unguarded look of someone who truly loved seeing others succeed. When Lizbeth said "Oak," Kathleen gave a small, delighted clap of her hands—quiet enough not to alert the other librarians, but enthusiastic enough to show her pride.

"Perfect," Kathleen whispered, her eyes crinkling behind her glasses. "You got it on the very first try. That is exactly right."

She felt a sudden, warm flush rise to her cheeks at Lizbeth's compliment. Kathleen was used to being the helpful background character, the one who fetched the books or stamped the cards. She wasn't used to being told that meeting her was wonderful. It made her feel seen in a way that her romance novels often described, but she rarely experienced.

"The pleasure is all mine, Lizbeth," she replied, her voice thick with emotion. "And I would love to read this with you. We can sit here as long as you like."

She gently reached out and guided Lizbeth’s index finger to the first letter of the word.

"So, the magic trick is the sounds," she explained, tapping the round letter O. "See this circle? It mimics the shape your mouth makes when you start the word. Ohhh-k. The letter 'O' captures that sound."

She watched Lizbeth carefully to make sure she wasn't overwhelming her, then slowly turned the thick paper page to the next illustration. It was a drawing of a lush, green, feathery plant that grew low to the ground—something Lizbeth would likely have stepped on a thousand times. Underneath it was the word FERN.

"Let's try one more," Kathleen encouraged softly, tilting her head. "Do you know the name of this plant? Don't worry about the letters yet, just tell me what you see."

Lizbeth can feel the joy of this librarian and can’t hold back that warm smile she uses to have on her lips. Outside the rain is tumbling intensely against the whole library, some people even are only rushing in to find shelter from the pour. Being more in an unseen corner, the doe is hidden, tranquil from any whisper in the crowd.
While Kathleen explains, one can see the deer’s lips move, forming a round at the tip of that muzzle. With a soft giggle she replies, “Same as in Oh-kay.” As if OK would be written Oak-ay.

Kathleen turns the page, another well known plant. Lizbeth nods, “that is Bitter-feather, quite common in the forest, there are a few feather plants, but this one is bitter, it doesn’t taste good and you have your stomach upside down afterwards. I think you call it Fern. It helps good if you have problems to regurgitate….” Lizbeth shrugs putting a hand on her muzzle, the silly doe forgot that humans are not ruminants. “Please excuse, I didn’t want to be rude.” She looks down on the book, her under lip touches her upper incisors and she blows an F, intensely hoping Kathleen wouldn’t mind her lapsus.

Kathleen let out a soft, genuine laugh—not at Lizbeth, but with her. The sound was light and airy, mixing with the drumming of the rain against the glass. She shook her head quickly, her curls bouncing slightly, to dismiss Lizbeth's embarrassment.

"Oh, please, never apologize for that!" Kathleen insisted, her eyes wide and sincere behind her glasses. "Biology is biology. And honestly? 'Bitter-feather' is a much more beautiful and descriptive name than 'Fern.' It actually tells you something about the plant. I think I like your name for it better."

She leaned in closer, captivated by the specific knowledge Lizbeth held. To Kathleen, who lived in books, this was like talking to a living encyclopedia of the woods.

"And you are already doing the hard part perfectly," she added, moving her finger to the first letter of the word FERN.

"You just made the sound. You bit your lip and blew air out. Fffff," Kathleen mimicked the sound gently, tapping the tall, vertical line of the letter F. "That is exactly what this letter tells you to do. It’s the 'Bitter-Feather' letter. Fern."

She looked at Lizbeth with a mixture of pride and curiosity.

"You have a whole different vocabulary for these things," she mused, adjusting her cardigan again, feeling cozy in their little secret corner. "I feel like we're trading secrets. I teach you the human word, and you teach me the real meaning behind it. Shall we try one more to see what you call it?"

She carefully turned the page. The next illustration showed a small, running body of water, flowing over smooth stones. Beneath it was the word STREAM.

"What do you see here?" she asked softly. "And does it have a story, too?"

The doe smiles back at Kathleen, she had learned a lot human words, as well as those used by deer. Even if it is not normal that deer speech was accepted, Kathleen shows interest for the whole doe, not just that object she was made for. As well as those stories that go with the words. This gives so much warmth to Lizbeth’s heart, she could just hug that woman.
“Deer have a simple language, of course aren’t we using same words as human language, the one we speak together, but instant translation would describe bitter-feather. I don’t know how to explain, it’s like a known to all language and I can both.”
Her attempt of linking the letter F with the blowing sound was fully accepted, making this doe slightly proud.
Kathleen presents then the next picture, a small stream idyllicly situated in wide nature.
She nods, but in her mind emerges her escape, her bathing in such stream.
“Yes, it’s a waterway, or water-run, but I’m confused about the human word. I never know if it’s river or stream or else, as it’s is just a more or less wide waterway. You can swim or not. This one I know, I bathed in it, it’s a good way to purify small wounds and then put some mashed chamomile, white calming flower, on the wounds. ” Lizbeth scratch, the one done by that barbed wire starts to itch slightly, the deer caresses her outer thigh.

Meanwhile an intriguing man enters the library, looking for a specific book in the public section, he halts for a moment seeing Kathleen and Lizbeth talking together. He fixes the doe…

Kathleen nodded thoughtfully, absorbing Lizbeth's description of the "white calming flower."

"Chamomile," she supplied gently, connecting the dots. "You know, people come into the library every day looking for books on how to do exactly what you just described from memory. You really are a walking library, Lizbeth."

She tapped the word STREAM.

"English is difficult," she agreed sympathetically. "We have too many words for the same thing. A 'River' is big and fast. A 'Stream' is smaller, gentler—like the one in this picture. And it starts with S."

She traced the curvy letter. "It looks like a snake, and it makes a hissing sound. Ssss-tream."

She was about to ask about the wound Lizbeth had mentioned—her eyes had caught the movement of the doe's hand scratching at her thigh, and her empathetic nature immediately spiked with concern—when a shift in the atmosphere caught her attention.

The library was usually a sanctuary of stillness, so the presence of someone standing still and watching felt heavy in the air. Kathleen looked up, her hand instinctively moving to cover Lizbeth's on the book, a subtle gesture of solidarity.

She spotted the man near the stacks. He wasn't just looking; he was fixed on Lizbeth.

Kathleen’s heart gave a nervous little flutter—she was naturally shy and non-confrontational—but her protective instinct for the doe overrode her social anxiety. She straightened her posture in her chair, adjusting her glasses to get a better look at him, trying to determine if his gaze was curious or malicious.

"Can I help you find something, sir?" Kathleen called out. Her voice was polite and professional, the classic librarian tone, but there was a firmness in it that hadn't been there before. She shifted her oatmeal-cardigan-clad shoulder slightly, trying to block his direct line of sight to Lizbeth.

Lizbeth was totally away, she was learning to read, letter after letter, now the ‘S’. She even has to giggle slightly at the link ‘S’ and snake, so obvious in fact.
Maybe, maybe this time this doe is finally going to differentiate ‘river’ and ‘stream’. River, she could even tell a story about that wolf called River.
The doe has to look at Kathleen, smiling about the compliment made to her, “me a library, how funny. But if all knowledge of human kind is gathered in here, my library is quite small…”
Then she sees the man staring at her, no… Lizbeth wants to hide, her warm smile disappears, she wants to leave. But instead Kathleen takes again a protective posture, hiding the doe behind here. Her back is maybe not as large as Max’s but it’s a screen.
Lizbeth knows the man, from her other life.

Kathleen goes on confrontation, hiding her obvious shyness behind her professionalism. But the man is not impressed, a rather rough voice speaks rather sarcastic words, “yes indeed, I’m looking for a special book, a book about repent hookers, you have an example just right there, behind you. I would love to take that one, once more. It was a very interesting book” The man points with his chin towards Lizbeth, with at same time an arrogant and superior look and a disgusted look that this doe is in ‘his’ library’. The deer just wants to disappear, her past has again caught up on her.

Kathleen went rigid. The blood drained from her face, leaving her pale, but her eyes—usually so soft and welcoming behind her tortoiseshell frames—hardened into something brittle and fierce.

She understood immediately. The "burden" Lizbeth carried, the whispers in town, the hesitation to enter the building—it all clicked into place with that one vile, dehumanizing sentence.

But if the man expected Kathleen to be scandalized by Lizbeth’s past, or to step aside and join in the mockery, he had severely misjudged the woman in the oatmeal cardigan. Kathleen knew exactly what it felt like to be reduced to a thing, to be mocked for how you looked or who you were.

She didn't look at Lizbeth. She didn't want to see the shame on the doe's face, because she refused to validate the man's insult. Instead, she kept her eyes locked on him.

Slowly, deliberately, Kathleen stood up.

She wasn't tall, and she was trembling slightly—her hands shaking where she pressed them flat against the leather desk blotter to steady herself—but she didn't back down. She moved fully between the man and the doe, making herself a physical wall.

"Sir," she said. Her voice wasn't loud, but it was ice-cold, stripping away all the warmth she had just shared over the book. "I don't know who you think you are talking to, but in this building, there are no 'examples' and no 'objects.' There are only patrons."

She took a breath, her chest rising sharply beneath her cardigan, then pointed a trembling finger toward the front entrance.

"You are harassing a guest of this library. That is a violation of our code of conduct. You will leave. Now."

It was the most confrontation she had engaged in since high school, and her heart was hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird, but she refused to sit back down.

Lizbeth feels bad, very bad, she had brought shame into this library. Still, amazingly, that lovely librarian, with that now almost symbolized oatmeal cardigan, stands between her and that man, whoever it might be. Never did this deer think of someone taking her defense, being as protective. Only her parents did this when she was that little fawn, 'little stardust'.
Not only does this woman take Lizbeth's defense, no, on top of that she invites this man to leave, making of him the culprit. This can't go right, this will end in pain, Lizbeth can already feel that whip thrown against her, slashing inevitably that woman too. She wants to stop Kathleen, she wants to tell her that all is fine, that she will just leave.... Lizbeth's hand goes towards that oatmeal cardigan, in the corner of her eyes she can see a security person move. No, no, not... Lizbeth crumbles back onto the bench, hiding behind her arms. The beautiful book they were studying, left alone, almost automatically closes again, returning to first page, returning to initial.
The deer would love to crawl into the tiniest mouse hole, disappear, leave, cry all alone.
Yet there is that woman, standing against that rudeness, deliberately facing what is wrong. The wrong not being this doe. Lizbeth doesn't know what to do, run, just run away or accept being protected, for once. She can feel the unease Kathleen experiences. She can see the trembling, she can almost hear that thumbing heart. It's her causing that! Her own just racing, wanting to get away, wanting all to stop and find its calm rhythm back. Lizbeth awaits punishment, the slave was disobedient and tried to learn to read, that is forbidden. The deer is in another state, cope mechanism making her mind set to off, set to receive another vague of pain, set to dumb submission.
The guard will take care of her, will put her back into the right place...

I just want to add that I feel sad about this. I know that it is difficult for certain persons like Miranda not to act impulsively. I do not blame her for closing this down. Please don’t mind her either.
Thank to all those that supported us.

Lizbeth