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No, that wasn’t possible.
Vitruvius went back to sleep.
A short time later, he woke abruptly because someone had opened his book.
It was then Vitruvius realized he was no longer at the bookshop.
He was in…
Someone’s home.
He flew around to inspect his new surroundings, finding it was a cluttered apartment full of beautiful books. There were nearly as many books here as there had been at the bookshop, and they were all antique volumes, shining and clean and obviously well cared for.
No Vitruvian Man poster, but that was all right.
Vitruvius was much more interested in the man who purchased his book.
The man was tall, broad, and he had a white beard and short white hair that made him look very much like Santa Claus.
He was handsome, like something out of the Christmas Daddy calendar that the bookshop would sell around the holidays. His eyes were a lovely shade of amber, and his skin was a warm brown that Vitruvius wanted to wrap himself up in.
Being trapped in a book for a hundred plus years was incredibly lonely.
Vitruvius floated over toward where the man was sitting at a large desk covered in strange tools. Right in the middle was his book, and he watched as the man reverently flipped through the pages.
“Beautiful,” the man said, pausing on one of the illustrations. He traced the frame of the picture with his finger but quickly pulled away as if he was doing something forbidden.
Vitruvius crept closer, touched by the man’s obvious respect for his book.
Well, right up until the man picked up a knife and hacked the front cover right off.
Vitruvius almost fainted.
What the hell was this man doing to his book?
Rage filled Vitruvius, and he gritted his teeth, feeling new life flooding throughout his ghostly form. His teeth grew, and his nails morphed into long talons. He did not survive almost a century to have his book be hacked apart by some maniac! He was going to tear this man into pieces and then—
“Easy, easy now,” the man murmured. “Don’t you worry, lil’ guy. Gonna fix you right up.”
Fix…?
How was ripping the book apart fixing it?
Vitruvius frowned, and he watched as the man removed the cover with surgical precision and then set the pieces aside.
The man scraped off old bits of the binding that remained, talking to himself all the while.
Vitruvius wondered if he talked to all the books he was claiming to repair.
“Gonna get these pages out and into a little bath. Sorry I can’t save your cover.” The man frowned. “Sadly, it’s too damaged for me to fix, but I have a guy who will make a new one that will look just like it. I’m Clancy, by the way. Nice to meet you, Mr. Collins.”
Mr. Collins?
Oh, the illustrator.
But that wasn’t his name.
Vitruvius huffed, and he moved the letters on the page Clancy was currently on.
