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There must be a million texts stacked upon the rows and rows of cluttered shelves, a thousand more contained in boxes and piled high atop tables and smooth surfaces.
It’s a little bit frightening when Zelda realises that many of the earliest editions contained in this shop were published back when her father was still king and Ganon had yet to be sealed away in the castle.
To her, yesterday. To the paperbacks, over a lifetime.
The shopkeeper, bless her, doesn’t know who Zelda is. Certainly doesn’t notice the bittersweet smile Zelda gives her when buying back her own books.