At this point, Schiezka had begun to question her own existence. She was a little girl, but it was a large world. She had no distinguishing qualities. There were alchemists traveling all over and doing wonderful (yet horrible) tricks. There was the military whose purpose was to wage war. But what was she? Schiezka began to see the truth. She was expendable.

She loved to play with her friends, giggling as she changed a worn old doll, yarn hair half-fallen out, into different dresses. She liked animals, especially dogs. But was this anything special? What could she do? Did she have any unique qualities? Could she be of help anywhere in the world? No. If she were never born, everything would be the same.

Realizing this, Schiezka began to distrust her world where so many were just easily forgettable faces in the crowd. She wished she lived in a different world, one where everyone was a hero, and everyone knew everyone.

It was then she was taken on her first visit to the library. She had pulled out a silly animal story and read it to herself in the corner, smiling and occasionally laughing at the ridiculous antics. She had hurried to the shelf, and pulled out another, and another, four, then five more. Her mother had called to her, and Schiezka had complained. She wanted to stay in this wonderful place! It was then her mother had revealed the magic of a library: books could be borrowed.

Every week Schiezka had taken a great pile of books home with her, consuming the text within. Soon, she finished the children's section. She had read every book there. She moved on to the adult section, taking whatever there was: epics, mysteries, cookbooks, anything she could get her hands on. As the supply of the small library dwindled, she took it a step farther, and began memorizing books, storing their content in her head for years to come. When she grew up, she worked in a library, only to be reprimanded for abandoning her job to read quietly. As the knowledge flooded her brain, an amazing this happened. The library was burned down. This may seem a bad thing, but then a state alchemist came, looking for Tim Marcoh's book. And Schiezka gave it to him. Tim Marcoh's 1001 Recipes for Magic in the Kitchen was written down in her eager hand. Here was something she could do. At the end, he said, "Thank you." Thank you. And he paid her. She didn't care about the pay, even though it was enough for her to build her own library and fill it with books. She cared about the Thank You. She had down what she loved, and she had helped someone.

She continued reading and memorizing. She stored the content of her books away neatly in her mind, ready to be accessed at the slightest thought. She could take herself away to a fantastical world, or solve a mystery with a detective. Because sometimes, one reality isn't enough.