“Roberta!” Celice called as she swung open the door to the Scrollery.
“Can I help you?” a youthful female voice answered from inside.
In the middle of racks of scrolls sat a single desk, piled high with rolled parchment. A pair of head-tendrils and a cascade of curly black hair ducked behind the stack of documents, and a blue Acara came out the other side with an armful of scrolls. “Please, come in, we’re open,” she said, carefully fitting a scroll onto the pile and then cringing as the whole mound shifted, but seemed to settle without incident.