Author: Guede Mazaka
Dean has weak eyes, brought on by a lifetime of squinting and staring at blurred ink, smudged endpapers and the like. He doesn't have a weak mind, but occasionally he does fall susceptible to exhaustion. So when he reaches for his crabbed notes once again, maybe that's why his hand freezes an inch above the paper, why he stops and watches as the spiky loops rearrange themselves to say: Dean Corso. Written in--
Because it's an absurd fantasy, after all. Books aren't people, though some certain persons may feel they have more affinity with their libraries than with a fellow human being. Dean preys on that feeling, so he should know.
Last confirmed owner an LCF--
And Dean blinks, rubs his eyes, and like magic, the writing settles back into its accustomed lines. Time to go to bed, he thinks, but he can't. The book holds him, and he reads on.