Disclaimer: not mine.
AN: trying to get a hang of writing after years of vacuuming.
Would it change anything? Would it?
Dusts dance around the dimly lit room. The smell of old books and the hint of ancient tales lingers. Trying not to sneeze.
This is just perfect.
Flopped back towards the armchair. It creaks.
Would it change anything had I told – no, of course not. Who are you fooling?
Throwing away the rackety old book carelessly – wonder if the yellowed paper got torn? – Glances at it nervously, and sighed in relief that it was okay. Tries not to sneeze again.
It's fine, I guess. It's not like there is any other way it could possibly be.
Standing up wobbly, finding out that your legs had fallen asleep in boredom and now is vengeful that they were awoken, you stagger towards the door. The floor creaks.
And the door was slammed shut. The floor creaks again.
The wind blew in from the opened window, stirring the dusts, catching them with the lights outside, making them sparkle.
It blows harder; a few books fell onto the floor with a thud. Loose papers join the dusts with a merry cheer, lining up for another conga.
"A non-believer we have here, huh?"
Caressing the leather bound of the book that was haphazardly thrown just a few minutes ago; the figure smirked, glancing at its partner.
The other figure just sighed, rubbing its temples once, and snapped its finger. The floating papers fell onto the floor lifelessly, leaving the lonely dusts to dance its solo. The wind stopped.
"Don't be so uptight, this is fun!"
Another figure jumped down from the bookshelf. The floor doesn't creak.
The wind blows in again, quieter this time – gentler. The papers stir, but no longer were they willing to join the dusts, who are dancing around them, trying to beckon them to dance together.
The first figure thumbs the book, tracing its finger onto the jagged ends of the paper, and lingers on the embossed skin where the title is.
'The theory of the Sea, Land, and Sky.'
And it smirks.
"Indeed, this will be very, very fun."
~TBC~