I went down to the library to find the book that Twilight borrowed — that old one with the tale of the Watchers of the Stars. But the librarian said that no such book existed. I questioned and questioned, pushing it to the point where the librarian was both offended and afraid of my conduct.

But even now, I still feel incited at this! Is she lying to me?

I remember the book existing! It was right here, on this very table where I now write these words! I remember how it looked, and I remember what it said!

I wrote about it, and I wrote about the information!

I refuse to believe it as mere fantasy!

How does this book not exist?

From behind the books came things. But the librarian did not see.

I ran home.