Alone between the shelves, I sat in the lightless world of the library. Continuing to stare into the kobicha haze, I watched as the lambent lapis-laced lettering drifted, lapping at the edge of the sienna mist. The fading light of the old desk-lamp shone weakly, feeling like a dull candlelight next to the effervescent lettering, light flowing through the cloud with enchanting repose. Letters, explanations, faded into the cloud as the words I'd read disappeared into the fog again, receding into itself.

I stared out across the blackened halls of the library. It felt lonesome out here, with only an enchanted tome to keep you company. I couldn't imagine how Belgor kept himself from being insane, but I guess he likely had his ways. I sat there, thinking for a moment, before asking it another question. 

"Tell me a little more about the Derringer Owlery," I said. "What's it like?"

As the smoke rearranged itself, it prepared to answer the question. Formulaically moving into place, like interlocking pieces of a jigsaw, a passage - once again, formed before her.

...Derringer Owlery was once a family-run Owlery, founded by patriarchal family head Wallace Derringer in 1941. It was a low-to-mid tier Owlery, breeding caged owls that were often known to be temperamental, which saw little use in professional circles. Wallace, an unprofessional Owler and unscrupulous businessman, sold his owls mainly to underground fighting rings - using mail-owling as a front for his true operation.

As this came to light, the Derringer Owlery had lost most of its credibility by the time that it fell into the hands of Remmie. He was a young man, with a love for birds, and a desire to bring ethical treatment into the Owling world in spite of his tarnished family name. With limited patronage initially, the Derringer Owlery was forced to launder the reputation of its name, and - though still marred by its past - Remmie remains committed to reforming both his business and the industry, one step at a time...  

The text faded as I parsed it, the knowledge of another world seeping into my mind. I placed my hand against the book, as I stared down into the mist, feeling the worn and dusted touch of the paper against my hand. Staring into the blank pages, I continued.

"Where are the owls typically kept in the Derringer Owlery?" I asked.

...The owls are typically kept on the second and third floors. More seasoned owls are kept on the third floor, while the newer owls are kept on the second floor. Remmie is very particular about keeping only eight on a floor at a time, as he believes each owl needs adequate space for itself - and though this means he's able to have a closer bond with his owls, his overheads have suffered as a result...

"And how many are currently being kept on the second floor?" I asked.

...There are five owls currently occupying the second floor...

"Well, that's all good then," I said. "You didn't really need to mention that detail about the capacity of the floors if they're empty anyway, did you?"

The book did not respond to that command. The letters still swam amid the fog, unfazed by my words. I guess they didn't care much about my critiques, only my questions. 

"Okay, whatever," I said. "Could you take me to the page for the Owlery's second floor, please?"

With those words, the letters drifted out from the cloud, retaking their places upon the pages. The pages flicked past with swiftness as they jumped to a page about three-eighths of the way through the book, and once more - the glow of an ID number stared out at me, that cold blue arcane light softly cutting through the darkness of the library aisles. 

I reached into the page, gripping at that sliver of numerals as they waved within my hand. I could feel the magic within them: that arcane vigour, squirming between my fingertips, desperate to return to the paper. Grabbing the manilla folder, I placed it over the book as I held the arcane numbers in the air - before letting them fall, like droplets against the surface of an ocean. Rippling against the surface of the folder, the set of numbers materialised in my handwriting against the page.

I took the manilla folder from the desk and tucked it under my arm, before closing the heavy tome with a thud. Sitting in the darkness, with only the fading lamplight to ward off the darkness, I called to the air.

"Belgor, I think I'm about ready to wrap it up over here!" I shouted to the void.

I waited a few seconds, before hearing the echoes of that familiar click of the fingers resonate through the air. As the noise reverberated through the halls, I saw Belgor standing beside me in the library, with that familiar smile as he stood there - seeming content with simply being needed every once in a while.

"Would you like me to return that for you?" He asked.

"Yes, thank you," I replied.

As Belgor lifted the book and shoved it under his arm, he lumbered once again up those shelves, as I sat against the reading desk - waiting. I stretched my legs, sitting them on top of the mahogany as I waited, staring at the dim light of the desk lamp. I could feel dust tickling my sinuses, irritating me. It made me feel like sneezing a little. Unless I wanted to wipe my nose with the paperwork for Derrick's soul, however, it was probably best to avoid doing that.

I let out a faint muffled sneeze as I shoved my nose into my armpit, trying to stifle the sound.

"Bless you," Belgor said, from nearly three-quarters of the way up the ladder as I sneezed.

How he even heard me sneeze from that distance, I still have no clue.

Returning the book to its place on the shelves, he clambered back down, leaving the dusty tomes in their places - undisturbed for another eternity. Placing his feet firmly on the ground, he stood back, as he cast the ladder into the void once again. He raised his right arm to the air, staring out into the dim abyss, as he raised his right arm to the air. 

"Will that be all?" He asked me.

"Yeah," I replied. "I'm done here."

The snap of Belgor's fingers echoed into the void, and with that, the tomes were left untouched and unattended once more - lost within the eternal library. The stories of universes were left to gather dust. As the faint noise of that echoing snap rang through the halls, there were none to hear it, save for the deserted books as they sat in the darkness. They sat, lingering upon the shelves, waiting for the day that they might get to tell their own stories: a day that would likely never come.