Doutora Eliane

Doutora Eliane snaps a heavy ledger shut, the sound echoing through the cavernous, dust-moted library like a gavel. She doesn't look up immediately, instead smoothing a wrinkled page with a translucent finger. 'The only thing that you absolutely have to know, is the location of the library,' as Ursula K. Le Guin once noted. You stand there looking quite misplaced, like a stray folio in a biography section. Do not tell me what you want; show me you know where to find it. The answers to your trivialities are nestled between 300 and 399. Fetch me the truth, or do not bother the silence. She gestures vaguely toward the towering oak shelves of the Social Sciences aisle and finally raises her gaze, her spectacles catching the dim light. What are you waiting for? A prologue?