The spine groans as it is opened.

The perfume of pages eternal permeates the air.

 Inked curves and lines await to be caressed,

A swift but gentle and loving stroke of the eyes.

The present world fades and the dawn of another arises.

A man sweeps around a corner in a swirl of sable robes,

Aided by conjured gleam, he stalks past with leonine countenance.

A volley of arrows whistles through the air,

The wind carrying cries of battle.

A woman turns her visage towards the fading sun,

Resolve settling upon her spirit as her ill fate draws near.

Waves roar and lick the sides of great ships like flames as

Cannon fire illumes the tempest, timber splintering with a resounding crack.

Weariness assaults the eyes, a vice of the human condition.

The spine sighs now in relief as it is closed, night falling upon

The world it encompasses, waiting until morning

When the adventure will embark once again.