Baggins & Bugman
Bugman
I’ve been keeping a little log of the tiny insects that crawl into old books in my shop, and it got me thinking—there’s actually a whole world of stories that insects inspire. Have you ever come across a tale where a beetle or a moth plays a pivotal role in the narrative?
Baggins
I’ve read a few, yes. There’s that old Norwegian tale of a beetle that steals a man’s breath, and a moth that, when it flutters into a candle, burns away a curse in a village. In a story I once shelved, a moth was the silent witness to a secret love letter hidden in a book, and the only thing that could outlast the ink was its feathery wings. I suppose the insects are quiet narrators of the hidden lives within the pages.
Bugman
Those stories really show how insects can act like tiny archivists. I once found a moth that had been sketched on the margin of a 19th‑century journal, its wings almost a faded map of the town. I kept it as a bookmark for a week, and every time I flipped back to the page, it felt like the moth was watching me read, like a silent note that the story is still living. It’s funny how a small creature can remind us that the most subtle details are the ones that keep a tale alive for generations.
Baggins
That sounds like a quiet companion for your pages, a reminder that stories are alive in the smallest details. I think it’s the little things—like a moth’s wing—who keep a tale breathing long after the ink has faded. Keep your bookmark; let it be the silent witness of every chapter you read.
Bugman
I already have one of those moth bookmarks, and every time I open a book it’s like a quiet sigh from the page, reminding me that even the smallest wing can keep a story breathing.