She was a librarian. Which is to say, she worked in a library. Which is to say, she worked in the library.

She wasn’t the type of librarian with her hair up in a tight bun, wearing horn-rimmed glasses and dispensing stern glances and shushes. Which is to say, she was only like that very occasionally when she felt like doing something special for her boyfriend.

She worked in acquisitions. The library, you see, as distinct from a library, was a whole separate set of dimensions outside of mundane time that held every edition of every book that had ever been published. That was the eventual goal, anyway. Right now, at least in her personal timeline, they were still stocking the shelves.

Her schedule for the day had her acquiring a first edition hand-lettered Shakespeare play. That was good news. She liked Shakespeare. She could do with an easy job, as well. She was still shaken from the debacle last week where she had misplaced the Voynich manuscript, an early Martian classic. Next to that, Love’s Labour’s Won would be a cinch.