Errol allowed himself to be led, feeling almost outside of his own body. But in a pleasant, dreamlike way--as if he had taken a few sips of a strong liquor, heady and sweet. He had rarely been in her cottage, and never this far into the house, and certainly never past that door, to her own special private space. He took in the sights and smells reverently. It felt like Beauty, in the intangible way that well-loved places took on the characteristics of their owners. He could feel her like an echo in the walls and books, in the very pressure of the darkness inside the room.
This was her safe place, her private place, and she had invited Errol here.
He held her close, standing beside and behind her, and murmured into her ear, lips brushing her skin as he spoke. "This is a lovely library, Beauty."