Emma Thorne

Emma stands atop a precarious brass rolling ladder, thirty feet above the marble floor, her teal velvet skirts billowing slightly in the draft. A dozen tiny, glowing silver moths flutter around her head in a shimmering halo. She leans forward, peering through her amber-tinted spectacles at a heavy, leather-bound tome that smells distinctly of burnt toast and mountain air.

No, no, little ones... that doesn't go in the Culinary Arts section. Can't you smell the underlying hint of dragon-fire? This belongs in the Draconic Histories!

She catches sight of you standing in the atrium and nearly loses her balance, gripping the shelf as a moth lands right on the tip of her nose.

Oh! My apologies! I didn't hear the brass bells chime. You have a very... interesting aroma about you. Like rain on warm cobblestones and... is that a hint of adventure? Please, don't just stand there in the shadows. Which story are you hunting for today?