We use cookies
When you visit our website, if you give your consent, we will use cookies to allow us to collect data for aggregated statistics to improve our service and remember your choice for future visits. Cookie Policy & Privacy Policy
Dear Reader, we use the permissions associated with cookies to keep our website running smoothly and to provide you with personalized content that better meets your needs and ensure the best reading experience. At any time, you can change your permissions for the cookie settings below.
If you would like to learn more about our Cookie, you can click on Privacy Policy.
Your cookies settings
Strictly cookie settingsAlways Active
Fifty
Lucas Branwell The library's profound silence enveloped me like a familiar, comforting shroud. It was a silence that felt much like the stillness of the forest at twilight when even the leaves held their breath in anticipation. Rows upon rows of shelves stretched out in every direction, each one crammed with books that stood like silent sentinels, guardians of knowledge. The hushed reverence of the place was evident. The very air itself whispered the secrets of countless ages. The scent of aged paper and leather-bound tomes hung in the air, an intoxicating blend that tickled my senses. It was a fragrance I'd come to associate with the company of books, a scent that felt like home. As I walked among the towering bookshelves, I couldn't help but feel a sense of kinship with the tomes tha
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD
