~Literary Heaven~

Belle enjoyed being at the castle. It was definitely different from the forest, if nothing else could be said about it. She had slept on a real bed for the first time in years. She had had a real, warm bath. She'd forgotten about that simple pleasure. For the first time in a long time, she didn't wonder what was on her plate. But more importantly, there were people here. Like Emma, who she felt was fast becoming a friend. Emma had surprised her with the invitation to the ball, but she was grateful for that as well. It had been ages since she had acted like a princess, and the opportunity to do so again felt like a gift.

She was thrilled at the size of their library. A large room, with one long table, and several comfortable chairs, surrounded by walls with floor to ceiling books. Regina somehow knew she would appreciate that, even though she never spoke of her love of books. Regina always seemed to know things. Sometimes on an absurdly creepy level.

But right now, she was in literary heaven. But that could wait for another day. It was there that she decided to bring the book Emma had handed her. She always was most comfortable surrounded by pages.

She started her examination on the outside, looking over it. The book was heavy, but not so much so that it was difficult to carry. The kind of heavy that surprises you, thinking it's lighter than it is by size alone. There was an old feel to the leather. It had been well taken care of. The cover had the title, and the symbol she associated with that of the Gods. She opened it, pulling out the spare parchment that Emma had used to mark the spot. She took a moment to marvel at the spare page. Even that felt exotic, having spare paper just lying around. Something so trivial, so small, yet it was something she simply couldn't have in the forest.

She took a moment to examine the drawing on the left. It was line work, in black ink or fine paints. It was difficult to tell, though if pressed, she supposed ink made more sense. It was fine workmanship either way. She wondered if it was real, made from the images of the women the story was about, or if it was simply a fabrication. Either way, she enjoyed the look of it. Three women, one sitting at a spindle, one appeared to be measuring the thread while the other was holding shears up to the thread.

She began to read from the page directly across from the image. Three sisters, known as The Moirai. Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos.