The library was the kind you see in movies, large, joined to the university and filled with students young and old. The soft tones of voices drifted from the centre of the hall where the tables were set and people were studying or working on projects, the sound of pages being turned a constant heartbeat to the library. A little farther from the centre were the rows and rows of books and archives. Soft light cast from yellow lamps illuminated the shelves that the sunlight could not reach. Such things brought atmosphere, he thought, finger drifting along the lines of books, neatly bound and just this side of dusty.
It was a nice place. The very collection of humanity. Because the history of humans brought stories and stories where the speculations of heaven and hell and everything in between. The stories were easier to deal with than the pains in the ass that were the real thing. Oh, he liked them. Occasionally. But he rather had humans around.
And yet humans were fascinated by those pains in the ass. And thus it was to him to relay the very best of them to his students.
Nathanael pulled a third book from the shelves and started flipping through it. John Milton’s ‘Paradise lost’. Strangely enough, a favourite.