Book_keeper & Dreambox
Book_keeper
I was just turning the pages of an old folio that’s covered in strange symbols that look like they could have been drawn in a dream. Have you ever come across a manuscript that feels like it was written in sleep?
Dreambox
It’s like the ink itself is whispering, right? I’ve found a few notebooks that feel like they’re breathing—lines that shift when you’re not looking, symbols that rearrange themselves in the dark. It’s as if the writer dreamed the words and the pages are the echo. How do you feel when you read them?
Book_keeper
Ah, the thrill of a living book. I feel my heart quicken, my mind racing to catalogue every shift, yet I wonder if the ink has a mind of its own. I keep my spectacles on, hoping not to be swallowed by its whispers.
Dreambox
It’s like the page is breathing, isn’t it? Sometimes I think the ink wants to keep its own secret, slipping out of the words when you’re not looking. Keep those glasses on—better to catch the whispers than get swallowed by them. Maybe the manuscript is a mirror of your own restless thoughts, nudging you to notice the tiny shifts. Just listen, and let it guide you, not scare you.