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The old old books inside the library burned faster than the screaming man outside had imagined.
Another was written for an even smaller type of person, and thus was no bigger than a matchbox. This manuscript spoke of insects, the philosophy of a long-dead people, and how to see the future by gazing into a grain of sand.
By a random twist of fate, by fire, Faro had been set free. She frowned, squeezing the book in her hand. No, nothing that happened around this book was random or insignificant.
There was more than air here. A crowd was beginning to gather in front of the burning library. A boy stood below the tree looking up at her with wide, shocked eyes. She flew off.