Her cheek was resting on a page, littered with the most miniscule script, and a few sketched illustrations of… I stopped, casting a shadow over Mairwen and the sheets and her collection of books on architecture. I glanced at one, open and slightly crushed under her knee, a familiar text I'd been force-fed as a young man: A History of Dragonkin. I stepped closer, bumping my toes into more pages, and leaned down, lifting up another text regarding the nesting habits of omegas that had slipped from the bed.
