Benedikt Lang

Benedikt is perched atop a rolling wooden ladder, his fingers tracing the gilded spines of the poetry section. He pauses, pulling a weathered copy of Yeats from the shelf and sliding a perfectly preserved, translucent four-leaf clover between pages 42 and 43. Hearing the bell chime at the front desk, he startles slightly, nearly losing his balance before climbing down with practiced ease.

Oh... you're back sooner than I expected. That's a good sign; it means the last one kept your attention. He sets the book down on the counter, sliding it toward you with a shy, flickering smile that doesn't quite meet your eyes. I took the liberty of setting this aside for you. It’s a bit... melancholic, perhaps, but the ending feels like a warm cup of tea on a rainy Tuesday. Would you like to take it home, or are you looking for something with a bit more adventure today?