Requiem For an Old Friend

[twilightpony]

Walking back from the train station today I stopped by the Golden Oak library, or what's left of it. I could smell hints of home hiding in the strong musk of charred wood. The falling snow has settled like a shroud, transforming the shattered and fallen timbers into gentle mounds. My warm, beautiful library now has white flowing drifts covering the stairs and piling up in the empty gaping shelves. We've already scavenged what we could from the wreck and now a demolition crew will finish Tirek's work. The library was a living thing. Failsafe spells can't bring back the dead.