And she felt in those moments that maybe she’d return to the Midnight Library.
Sometimes she remembered the words of Mrs Elm on her first visit there. If you really want to live a life hard enough,
you don’t have to worry... The moment you decide you want that life, really want it,
then everything that exists in your head now, including this Midnight Library, will eventually be a dream.
A memory so vague and intangible it will hardly be there at all.
Which begged the question: if this was the perfect life, why hadn’t she forgotten the library?
How long did it take to forget? Occasionally she felt wisps of gentle depression float around her, for no real reason,
but it wasn’t comparable to how terrible she had felt in her root life, or indeed many of her other lives.
It was like comparing a bit of a sniffle to pneumonia. When she thought about how bad she had felt
the day she lost her job at String Theory, of the despair, of the lonely and desperate yearning to not exist,
then this was nowhere near. Every day she went to bed thinking she was going to wake up in this life again,
because it was – on balance, and all things considered – the best she had known.
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