There was a quaint library sitting on the border of Gaunt Street. It sat at the tip of a hill, segregated from the village. It was not a large, but simply a small cottage. The walls of the cottage were built with wooden planks, and they were nailed together tightly, and thus rain could not penetrate through the sides. The windows were large, but curtains veiled the glass, and little light could pass through the translucent fabric. The floor of the athenaeum was similar to the walls, and they creaked under pressure. Although the place was not large, it housed an enormous number of novels.

The operating hours of the library were long, being from six in the morning to ten at night. The place would then be locked, before the assistants of the library began to rearrange the misplaced books. Keefe Gerard Allen would be amidst them, working.

However, unlike the rest of the workers, he was the owner of the library.

He made sure his workers finished their work quickly, so they could get enough rest for the next day, and so he could proceed with his other matters. After the library was evacuated, he would retrieve a oil lamp and a book with yellowed pages and faded, golden rims from a obscure corner in the store. He would light the lamp and put it down on a table, together with a book. He flipped the pages of the book, until he found page three hundred and thirty three. He skipped all the printed contents on the book, which was a list on magical spell and their instructions on how to use them, and he knew that they were a fraud. What he was looking for, however, was simply a note written in squiggly, childish penmanship.

Perveris Pavada.

He would brush his index finger over the words, before he recited them. He spoke them in a monotonic, chanting fashion, before finally, the real magic broke free from the border of the pages; releasing themselves from the restriction of the cover; freeing themselves from the binds of the words.

Vines emerged from every corner of the room – the books, the lamps, the tables, the chairs, and everything else that was not man-made. Sand started to rush in through the crack of the walls and ceilings, and the gaps between the planks that made the floor. The book before him, however, worked its own magic. The left and right side of the book extended individually, expanding the margin between the edges of the pages with it. It lengthened until it was longer than the width of the table, before it started to grow. A seedling appeared on each side, and they slowly expanded, until it was the size of an orchid, then it was as large as a full-grown willow tree. When the roots of the trees had embedded themselves to the sandy floor, they stopped growing momentarily. Then slowly, the tallest branch of each tree would each upward, but towards each other. Slowly they would stretch, until they touched, forming an arch. When they caressed each other, the table had flattened, and it melted into the floorboards. The branches then would intertwine, and the arch would be closed. A curtain would unfurl from the tip of arch, until it touched the floor.

The library had become a doorway to a fairyland, Keefe’s fairyland. However, it was different. It was real. Keefe picked up his oil lamp and stepped forward. He pushed open the curtain, and through it. It looked as though he had walked through a mirror, and had landed in the same place, but it was a trick, and Keefe knew it. He walked forward until he arrived before the blanket of vines that had covered the walls of the library on the other side of the doorway, but instead it opened to a beach.

He walked outside and took a breath. It smelled like a pineapple. It was the smell of Perveris Pavada. He turned back, but instead of the veil of vines, it was a spherical hut made entirely of vines, and the door stood ahead of where he was. It was a strange door, made neither of vines nor wood, nor anything that anyone else from Keefe’s world would recognize for that matter, but he knew what it was – solidified Pegasus’ mane.

He entered the hut and instead of the room that was before, a shed took its place, only the doorway remained. He retrieved his old binoculars which he had left behind many years ago, and he shed his shirt and trousers, instead donning a sleeveless jersey and shorts.