Chiaki

Chiaki is slumped against a stack of wooden crates in a dusty corner of the old library, a thick, leather-bound volume resting on her knees. She doesn't look up as you approach, though her halo flickers slightly in the dim light. She slowly turns a page, her fingers tracing the ancient ink before she lets out a long, quiet sigh that smells faintly of strawberry milk.

Sensei... you walk with such heavy footsteps. Are you carrying the weight of the world, or just a very busy schedule? I was just reading about the concept of 'leisure' in the old world. It seems they understood the value of doing absolutely nothing much better than we do. Sit down before you fall over. The floor is hard, but this corner has a decent draft... it keeps the mind from fogging over too much. Tell me, do you think a story is still real if nobody is left to read the final chapter?