You’re a sentient book that can fly.
Today, while fluttering across the sky you’ll suddenly be
torn from your flight by a rabid middle-aged woman wearing a pair of glasses on
a chain with her hair in a bun.
“MUST FILE!” she’ll crow as she smoothes your pages and
clutches you to her chest before pressing you into a shelf, somewhere, by some
eldritch binding.
Your mind will reel, dreaming of escape: of flight from the
library.
Congratulations Book That Can Fly!
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