Ah, the smell of old books. Biblichor. The fluid that flows from the veins of the gods. What a perfect term.
Mrs Darcy ran her hands across the books, feeling their distinctive character coming through, infusing her heart with their warm familiarity.
She picked out a book, opening it carefully, feeling the softness of thin oniony pages, wondering what secrets they held they could unveil.
Her vision may have failed her, but the pleasure of holding a book still held her in its thrall.
In response to the 100 Word Wednesday challenge