Liora discovered a book said to contain all meanings. Scholars climbed toward it, adding footnotes as offerings.
When she opened it, the pages were blank.
“You must read me correctly,” the book said.
“I don’t know how,” Liora replied.
“Then read something else.”
She read conversations, glances, silences. She read arguments that didn’t end and songs that changed halfway through.
When she returned, words had appeared in the book — unstable, shimmering, responsive.
“What are you?” she asked.
“I am what remains accountable,” said the book. “I do not precede what you read. I follow it.”
Liora placed the book back on the shelf, face outward, so it could keep watching.
No comments:
Post a Comment