"The eye is the window to the soul."
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London is a city many hustle over to. Whether to see family, attend fashion week, meet their dearest celebrities or simply to be under the skies of a well known city.
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Many think all about what the city could hold but they never turn to the small wonders that hum in their solace.
One of those wonders is the bookshop down Serendipity Lane.
Quite often, though, you will run into Londoners who will look into your eyes with a stern expression and firmly exclaim that the lane itself does not even exist. Their anger being a product of offence for after possible decades of soaking in the city, the idea of not knowing a part of it (even if it is like a cranny in a large manor) is entirely forbidden.
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However those who have creaked the wooden floorboards or have made the stairs groan under their weight are well aware that the book shop has been made blind to the souls of those who do not carry the desire to carried off into a distant land.
Even if it means only their imagination can endure the journey whilst their feet stay firmly on ground.
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And perhaps that is a very good thing, as it means that they are getting along with their ordinary lives. It is also good, however, for the old man who sits behind the counter who reads so silently, except for the ruffle of a page because he will meet only the most deserving eyes with the most golden windows to a lovely soul. A soul for him to share his peculiar stories with. (I say peculiar for those of you who shrink away from any hint of magic in the air, but also for those of you who cannot be more happier than to read those words.)
I also say peculiar because the bound pages on the shelves are not ones you will find anywhere else. They are stories that were written which such love that at some point, the books gained life. Unfortunately, their owners have abandoned them in terror and turned to more lifeless projects instead. Thaddeus Quill, on the other hand, tracked down and honoured the books by giving them a home and chance to tell their tales to those worthy enough to listen.
Even now as they quietly sit on the bookshelves, they are content to simply exist.
Nevertheless (though they will not admit it) they feel a rush of excitement at the idea of being read and so they patiently wait to be picked up.
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You were meandering down the streets of London as your nose was wafted by the smell of a pumpkin spice season.
You pull your coat and scarf tighter around your body as the wind, yet again, forcing the crunching leaves into a strained dance.
As you make your way down to your typical coffee shop, (where you stare out the window and wonder what you're doing with your life) you let your eyes wander and see a street filled with short buildings in an awkward assembly.
It was called "Serendipity".
With one glance back to your normal route, you make your way into the heart of Serendipity lane, and standing there proudly was a bookshop.
With an open novel and swirly lines carved into the front door and the large yellow words of "Golden windows" at the top, you feel an odd sensation of...longing.
You almost did not go in but the little message written on the small mat caught your attention and eventually led you to ring the bell of the book shop.
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It read.
"I hope you will find the most enticing story that gives you the courage of a thousand great men and that will ground you to reality or take you up into the heavenly skies."
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The greying elderly man gazed up at you from his rectangular lenses, giving you a soft smiling that enveloped his face after taking you in.
"Welcome, dear, to Golden windows." He said with such warmth. "You may stay as long as you like and read to your souls content."
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You furrow your brows to the incorrectly spoken statement and retort by saying, "You mean, 'To your hearts content.'
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"No." He said, laughing and waving his hand around like the whole concept was irrefutably ridiculous. "I meant, your souls content." He returned to his novel and you just started to move to the bookshelves that almost seemed to be buzzing like a child does when things finally go their way. "I only have one rule. You cannot take any book home."
The words struck you right, and true. Almost to the point of scaring you off but the shelves, the buzzing, the spiraling staircase that oddly seemed to fit into the small space, enraptured you too much for you to turn away just yet.
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Little did you know, that these stories, were ones that will take up pieces of your heart, hail your soul, and command your thoughts. Perhaps you would choose to turn back time and to never return or perhaps these tales would change your life for the better.
Let your journey begin.
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