Stiletto

All are burn already. There is any book left, libraries are hollow, barren and useless. I’ve been told that they will be closed and make alterations to them just to make us forget them and forget the books. Make us believe they never exist. Nevertheless, once per month we all meet down in the sewers, below Council Square, to see well, I should better say to listen to little Celia read. We name her Hope obviously and because to avoid to be discovered. Every night she relates us different parts of forgotten books. Despite of the rats, the stink and the fear, what makes me coming back for more is her voices so pure so crystal clear. I don’t know how she can read blank pages if she is blind.