Work Text:
The sun is rising over Keystone City, rays of dawn light filtering from the west over the city skyline and painting the sky with shades of orange, red and yellow and stark black silhouettes of buildings.
The sun has been rising for five hours now, and it has not moved appreciably higher over the skyline.
The street vendors setting up their stalls for the Solstice Market, the cats in the alleyways and the passersby hurrying through the streets don’t really care about or notice the fact that the sun has been rising for five hours and it’s still not quite proper daytime.
It would, in fact, have been strange to them if the sun had finished rising in two minutes, because while there has never been such a thing as nighttime in Keystone City, sunrise and sunset simply extended themselves to fill the gap in the hours, and sunrise lasting two minutes would be like the afternoon lasting two minutes.
Among the crowds making their way to browse the Solstice Market was a six-year-old girl named Mallory Blee, who has been six years old since 1975.
Mallory Blee has brown hair, blue eyes, fair skin, white shoes, a yellow dress and a blue coat.
Mallory Blee looks like she has red hair, red skin, red shoes, a red dress and a red coat, because of all of the blood soaked onto her.
She wears sparrow feathers around her neck and tied in her hair and woven into the hem of her dress, and probably in several more places as well, and she makes sure to keep the blood on the feathers fresh.
The sparrow feathers, you see, keep away the Bad Thing, but only if they’re soaked in blood, so she might as well keep all of her soaked in blood. The Bad Thing, you see, is the reason that there are no more Glees, and thus no more Blees, except for Mallory Blee.
No one knows where Hickory Glee is, even Mallory Blee. Hickory Glee must still be alive, because Mallory Blee is still alive, and Blees can’t live if their Glee is dead, so Hickory Glee must be alive somewhere, even if no one can find her.
Then again, it’s debatable how alive Mallory Blee is. After all, she’s looked exactly the same since 1975, and if you ask her the date, she’ll tell you she lost track of the day and month, but it’s definitely still 1975. A few people have even reported that they can see the setting sun behind her even when she should block the light.
It’s the winter solstice tonight, and this is Keystone City, so the Solstice Market is far from the low-key event that it is in Central City, and anyone who would give Mallory Blee a second look would be giving many, many other people second looks before they took notice of Mallory Blee.
The entire Market District is glittering with strands of crystals meant to catch and refract the sunlight, and the thin layer of powdery snow coating every surface glints almost as brightly in almost as many colors. No one leaves any tracks on the snow, because it’s Solstice Snow, and Solstice Snow is guaranteed track-free and self-melting at the end of Winter.
Mallory Blee skips through the snow and down the street, humming a little ditty to herself, a ditty that she and Hickory composed together in her dreams. If anyone listened, they would be disturbed, possibly Very Disturbed, but Mallory would offer them a sparrow feather if they were Very Disturbed, and tries her best to sing quietly so she doesn’t have to.
She clutches her purse tight, and skips her way down to one very specific booth at the edge of the Solstice Market. It’s an old, weathered booth, the tattered canvas banner reading “Mrs. McGee’s Fruit” stretched across the front stained with dozens of very colorful stains.
Mallory Blee pulls two dollar bills and one quarter out of her purse as soon as she reaches the stall. She takes a deep breath, and tells Mrs McGee what she wants to order.
Mrs McGee takes one look at Mallory, squints at the sparrow feathers she wears and says “The Librarian doesn’t take books about those birds.”
“I’m not going to give her books about the Bad Thing.” Mallory Blee replies. “I’m going to trade her my story, and only the parts that don’t have the Bad Thing in them.”
Mrs McGee, not one to dismiss a paying customer out of hand, takes Mallory’s dollar bills and quarter and counts them. Satisfied that Mallory’s cash is good and fine, she hands Mallory Blee a single piece of dried and sweetened mango, wrapped in plastic cling wrap.
Mallory Blee puts the mango in her purse, and skips down the street, and into a dark, dusty building in a side avenue that connects to every street in any city or town that respects the Librarian’s claim. And all places respect the Librarian’s claim if they have stories worth telling.
The dark, dusty building is foreboding and has not seen any light brighter than candlelight and twilight on a full moon night for centuries.
It is both larger and smaller than it should be, the halls winding, dark and lit only by occasional windows that aren’t always on exterior walls.
Except for the sounds visitors make, there is no sound besides the ticking of an unseen clock, and sound does not carry far.
The dark, dusty building is the Public Library, and it is home to the Librarian and the Librarian’s books. Visitors would do well to heed the rules of the Library, for their own safety, because the Librarian follows the Old Laws, and she may even have written their first draft.
Mallory Blee has never been to the Public Library before, but she can read the rules just fine. Even if she couldn’t read anything else, she could read the signs.
This is what the signs read:
Unnecessary noise is strictly prohibited within the Library.
Shouting is strictly prohibited within the Library.
Damaging or altering the Library or its contents is strictly prohibited.
Attacking Library patrons or staff is strictly prohibited.
Removing books from the Library without a library card, or without checking them out, is strictly prohibited.
Dragon-slaying weapons, dragon’s doom, dragoncraft items with unwilling sources, and in general, items, spells and chemicals intended solely or primarily to harm, enchant or kill dragons are strictly prohibited within the Library.
Members and affiliates of the Order of St. George, Ordo Draconis and either of those organizations’ splinter factions, as well as members and affiliates of any other organization on the organization blacklist are automatically placed on the individual blacklist.
Individuals on the individual blacklist and their affiliates are strictly prohibited from entering the Library.
Please see the Librarian for details on library services, fees and repayment methods.
Mallory Blee skips her way to the Librarian’s desk, and almost gasps when she sees the Librarian for the first time, and stops herself just in time.
Admittedly, many people gasp when they see the Librarian for the first time, and are fine. The Librarian allows first-time patrons as much leeway as she can with the rules of the Library, as long as they intend to follow them. People still try not to gasp, because they’re not sure how much a gasp is a shout, and sometimes it’s enough of a shout that they end up breaking the rules.
People tend to gasp because the Librarian is an unfathomably ancient dragon, and even when she’s trying to be reasonably small, the top of her head would probably easily come up to the peak of Mount Everest while she’s standing in the middle of the Bay of Bengal.
At full size, she’d probably be large enough to swallow a G-type star like Sol and all of its satellite bodies in a single bite, and blot out the Milky Way with her wingspan.
Mallory Blee looks up at one of the Librarian’s wide, dark eyes, just the iris about the size of an eighteen-wheeler truck, and in a small, polite voice, offers her story to the Librarian, as payment for something else.
This is that story.
While you appear to be trying to check out a book, Albert Shelley, you do not have a library card. As you should know, having read the signs, removing books from the Library without a library card, or without checking them out, is strictly prohibited.
I see that you have no money, and nothing else valid to pay with. You have nothing to your name. Your story is a footnote to someone else’s.
You should also know that attacking Library patrons and staff is strictly prohibited, so you’re not getting out of this, even if you did have payment for me.
Yes, I know that Barry Allen wasn’t inside the Library when you shot him. He is still a patron of the Library, as he has a permanent library card.
Wrong- I could always do that. I simply chose not to enforce that clause of the Rules before. All enforcement of Library Rules is subject to the Librarian’s judgement and whim, and it’s not like I can’t retroactively change the Rules if I want.
Your story ends here, Albert Shelley.