The Citadel (Mirror World #2)

by Alexey Osadchuk

I'd always loved the scent of new books. What a great, special feeling when you walk into a book shop and check its shelves expecting to see the book you'd been awaiting for quite a while. The shopkeeper hides a knowing smile as you pay and reach out for the little tome. Seemingly matter-of-factly, you study its cover and open it as if to make sure it's what you've been looking for. It is indeed. You look at the author's familiar name: it feels as if you've known him all your life. The novel's title is printed in large, bold letters, followed by either a prologue or Chapter One. You catch yourself thinking that the book feels pleasantly heavy. You've only opened it to check the design but your gaze can't let go, hurrying from one word to the next, from comma to period. You devour the first paragraph in a matter of seconds... that's it! You've dived too deep to resurface; you're far from here, somewhere on a desert island or in the recesses of deep space. That's when you pull yourself together and will yourself to stop. Not here. Not now. Tonight. After everyone's gone to bed. You'll make some tea and sandwiches, wrap yourself in a blanket and disappear for a while. You'll be gone. You'll be far from here.