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The Library of the Unwritten by A.J. Hackwith

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4.0

It seems curious that one of the grandest, most belief-fueled realms of paradise does not possess a library of its own. In the minds of its believers heaven must be perfect. Absent nothing. Regretting nothing. Wanting nothing. It makes sense then, that Heaven has no wing of our library. What is a story without want? Without desire? Without need?

Stories can die. Of course they can. Ask any author who's had an idea wither in their head. Fail to thrive and bear fruit. Or a book that spoke to you as a child, but upon revisiting it, was silent and empty. Stories can die from neglect. From abuse. From rot. Even war, as Shakespeare warned, can turn books to graves. We seek to preserve the books, of course, but we forget the flip side of that duty. Treasure what we have. Honor the stories that speak to you. That give you something you need to keep going. Cherish stories while they are here. There is a reason the Unwritten live on something as fragile as paper.