Swamy watched the River Ayutthaya, lost in its rhythmic percussion of waves on side-lines of mountains. Her body had occupied a small silver-plated stool on a corner of the elegant library, but her brain was flying high above the ceiling, in the infinite universe. An astronomical book was hovering under her chin a few inches afar. It was sealed by a strangely knotted ribbon that hissed now and then, awaiting a command. A glittery golden cover momentarily blinded the surrounding with its overbearing charm. Upon it, was engraved a jet-black dragon, similar to the one on parchment she’d read at 309, Shapoorji Street.
Only, it was a lot clearer that Swamy could even observe the tiniest of details. The dragon was crouching in the centre—perhaps asleep—casting a crumpled umbrella-like figure
