The creaky doors opened to reveal a sinuous trail of shelves stacked with books. The literary jewels bathed in the warm light pouring in through the windows. A musty odor hit Lissie, flooding her with memories. Every corner whispered nuggets from the happiest times of her life. The table by the window remained unoccupied as if it were reserved for her. The branchlet of an oak tree peeped through the window beckoning her over. Waves of agony engulfed her as events from that evening whacked her mind.

"I want to be buried under books when I die," her mother had said, drifting through the aisles.

"Don't say that, Mumma," said Lissie, her eyes inundated with tears.

"Don't be sad. I'm not going to die anytime soon." Her mother laughed.

Lissie's grasp around her mother's hand tightened.

The shelves emanated a blend of odors - the aroma of roses and lilies, the repulsive stench of blood, the gut-wrenching loss, and the aroma of hope. She lost herself in the labyrinth of books without a care for the ticking clock.

"One day, you will inherit my books," said her mother, her eyes shimmering like diamonds.

Pride simmered in Lissie's heart. Her mother's books were a treasure. She left the library that evening with a stack of books in her arms. The sun dipped below the horizon, and the moon illuminated the serpentine roads. Safely buckled to her seat, Lissie devoured page after page. Suddenly, she felt a jolt. The book slipped and fell. The car rammed into a tree. Her mother's head hit against the steering. The windshield glass shattered and pierced her mother in the neck. The trial of blood left Lissie unconscious. The fiendish evening guzzled her mother. The light in Lissie's eyes dimmed. She antagonized books. She had insisted they stopped at the library. If it weren't for the books, her mother would be alive.

A windchime jingled. She drifted to the present.

"You must visit the library. Give the books a second chance," suggested her therapist.

She still felt weak in her legs as she stumbled to the first aisle. Her fingers drummed against the spines of the books. She stopped at a title and picked it up. The pages rustled under the ceiling fan.

"Everything's got a moral, if only you can find it." She began to read, her blurry vision failing her intermittently.

The initial unease settled. Solace blossomed in her heart. She was sucked into the pages, giving in to the whirlwind of emotions, finding herself floating in another world. Her mother had read to her from Alice in Wonderland. She pressed the book against her chest and wrapped her arms around it. The printed words hugged her back.

"A hug is always the right size," she thought, a smile flashing on her lips.

She wasn't alone anymore. The paperback would be there for her, guiding her through the ebbs and troughs.