Stirred
It started deep—behind the doors
That hadn’t groaned in countless scores.
The hinges ached. The silence cracked.
Vibrations stirred within the stacks.
A whisper swept the wooden beams,
Like rust disturbed in shadowed seams.
The parchment curled. The shelves exhaled.
A vault long sealed had somehow failed.
A hum. A click. A distant scratch—
As if a quill resumed dispatch.
No footsteps came. No voices called—
But every tome had just recalled.
The dust took flight in quiet swarms,
Each mote a memory taking form.
The chains that held the past in place
Now strained against their keeper’s grace.
No bell was struck. No signal cast.
Yet something shifted, slow and vast.
Not fully roused. Not set to flee.
But thick with quiet certainty.
If you heard the silence sway,
The Archive knows you've looked her way.
