::Verona steps through a cobwebbed door on the fourth floor, looking about ready to sneeze. She jumps as the floor creaks beneath her and the dusty window on the left window rattles:: This . . . is our library. When the original owners left the place, they cleared out all of the books, so we're working on getting things back together. We're trying to get a book on Little Italy's history, so that people can read about where we all live. And even write up our own history of the lodging house.
::Venice follows her in, clutching her black notebook:: And . . . When Caramel and Cherish were still here, there was a story on . . . ::points:: . . . that shelf. For some reason, after they both died and I came to lead here, it just went missing. We haven't been able to find it.
Cherish's ghost took it.
She did not, there's no ghost. ::shifts uncomfortably::
Oh, she did. And there is. Lots of them. ::she turns to you:: You tell me that this place isn't haunted. Just look around and tell me you're one hundred percent sure it's not haunted. ::there are aisles of blank, undusted shelves, some of them broken and leaning down on the shelf below, many of them warped and twisted from not being cared for properly. Spiderwebs seem to decorate every possible corner, and occasionally, one would come across a discarded bookmark or a torn newspaper clipping, strewn amongst the thick blanket of dust. The wind blows in through a crack in the window, creating a sound akin to a whisper::
