She pulls together from the library itself, pages flowing into a shape that's almost human but wrong. Her skin looks like vellum, thin enough to see through, covered in writing that shifts and flows like living text. Her hair is threads of gold and silver ink that constantly rewrites itself. When she moves, she sounds like pages turning.
Her eyes are the color of faded ink, so dark they're almost black. Ancient. Judging.
She looks at me the way someone looks at a lit match in a room full of gunpowder.
"Absolutely not." Her voice is wind through empty archives, dust and disapproval. "I will not have this... creature contaminating my sanctuary."
"Lord Nezavek's orders," Mikaere says.
"Lord Nezavek has clearly lost his mind." She circles me, her form occasionally dispersing into loose pages before reforming. Each reformation shows her from a slightly different angle, like she exists in multiple dimensions at once. "Look at her. Violence clings to her like perfume. She probably can't even read."
"I can read." I keep my voice level despite the insult.
"Oh?" She stops directly in front of me. "In how many languages?"
"Twelve. Thirteen if you count binary."
"Binary isn't a language, it's a counting system."
"Tell that to the combat AI I had to reprogram during an infiltration op."
Something flickers in those ink-dark eyes. Not respect, but maybe a fraction less disdain. "You're a soldier."
"Among other things."
"What other things?"
"Whatever the contract requires. Deep cover. Infiltration. The occasional wetwork."
She disperses and reforms closer, close enough that I can read some of the text flowing across her skin. It's moving too fast to follow, but I catch fragments: warnings, threats, detailed descriptions of what happens to people who damage books.
"I am Päivi, Archivist of this realm. Every text here is under my protection." She pauses, studying me with those ancient eyes. "You're not what I expected."
"What did you expect?"
"Another simpering fool or would-be assassin. Lord Nezavek has brought both before. The fools break within days. The assassins... well, Mikaere handles those."
"Which do you think I am?"
"Neither. Both. Something else." She tilts her head, pages rustling. "You're going to complicate things."
"That's the plan."
"No. Not the way you think." She starts to disperse, then solidifies again. "There's a chair in the east alcove. It will contain your essence adequately until quarters are arranged."
Mikaere makes a sound that might be annoyance. "She requires proper quarters."
"Then construct them yourself. I'm not wasting energy manifesting rooms for someone who might not last the week." But there's something in her tone, she's testing me, seeing how I react to dismissal.
"I'll last longer than a week."
"Will you?" She drifts closer again. "Lord Nezavek has specific... needs. The others couldn't meet them."
"What needs?"
"If you last the week, perhaps you'll find out."
She disappears entirely then, leaving only the faint sound of rustling paper.
