I went down to the library to find the book that Twilight borrowed — that old one with the tale of the Watchers of the Stars. But the librarian said that no such book existed. I questioned and questioned, pushing it to the point where the librarian was both offended and afraid of my conduct.
But even now, I still feel incited at this! Is she lying to me?
I remember the book existing! It was right here, on this very table where I now write these words! I remember how it looked, and I remember what it said!
I wrote about it, and I wrote about the information!
I refuse to believe it as mere fantasy!
How does this book not exist?
From behind the books came things. But the librarian did not see.
I ran home.