Information



Fritha
Legacy Name: Fritha


The Glacier Popoko
Owner: Sofie

Age: 13 years, 6 months, 2 weeks

Born: September 9th, 2010

Adopted: 13 years, 6 months, 2 weeks ago

Adopted: September 9th, 2010

Statistics


  • Level: 206
     
  • Strength: 270
     
  • Defense: 185
     
  • Speed: 160
     
  • Health: 166
     
  • HP: 155/166
     
  • Intelligence: 1,457
     
  • Books Read: 1440
  • Food Eaten: 10
  • Job: Editor in Chief


Fritha

You know, you've probably already been to the Library.
In fact, I know you've been, I remember you. I remember everyone that comes through these rooms and hallways. Whenever you've been lost in a story, whenever you've forgotten to eat or drink, or gasped, suddenly aware that you've held your breath out of excitement, fear, or lust. Whenever you've been there, you've been here.

I've been here since the Library opened, at first it was just one room, a cave lit by the flickering of fire. I saw the stories written by the nomadic men and women who roamed the Earth and left handprints on the walls of caves hidden deep in the Earth. I felt their excitement in the hunt, their joy in love, and their sorrow in loss. It wasn't long before the cave expanded, as different tribes and people went their separate ways so too their stories grew and expanded. I would wake up to find a new room, a new hallway, a cavern, a forrest, and I spent centuries happily lost amid them, discovering whispered stories by the firesides, gentle night-time lullabies, and raucous tales in inns and taverns. Vast white marble structures rose out of shallow waters, and I spent my day weaving through the interconnected structures: temples, amphitheatres, and churches, and within these vast buildings there were hidden rooms and secret places, perfect for secrets. I discovered sorrow, deeper and more terrible than anything I had found before, and found love a thousand times over. I stopped counting the rooms thousands of years ago, I know there is little point, after all, it is endless.

People often come and go, I have seen great storytellers sit in the middle of a room as it grows around them, their brow furrowing as they urgently try to get the story down in words. I have seen forests sprout in seconds, whole oceans rise up against cliffs, planets popping into existence and rooms filled with vast orreries. Often these writers will leave in despair and leave the stories unfinished, and yet the rooms remain and often these places grow all on their own.

Writing is still quite new for me. Before writing the Library was filled by voices: songs and whispers, passed on from person to person, each room branching with omission and embellishment. I like writing. I like the strange symbols, how they look on rock and reed. I like etched initials on school desks and weary trees. I like the footprints of pets made by owners who know that the mark will remain long after the animal has left. Some rooms are vast and as endless as the Library itself, while others are small nooks tucked away in ordinary places. Rooms filled with books: hardbacks with shiny cheap covers, paperbacks that smell of dust, scraps of paper with hurried writing, they're all here in some form or another.

There have even been writers who have written about the Library: Worlds within Worlds. Have you read "The Shadow of the Wind"? What about "Piranesi"? Have they been written yet?

Oh yes, there are other stories too, the ones yet to be told, they grow here like flowers, and if you visit you're welcome to take one. It might bloom into a whole World, or it might wither and be blown away, forgotten. Either is wonderful. The Library is endless and, if you wish to visit, it is always open.


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