I made sure to keep my mouth shut, my hands were thrust deep into my pocket, but somehow they were still active enough that my pocket was a little richer than when I'd set out. The door to the library made me breathe a breath of relief. I wasn't there for the books today. What I was there for sat conveniently at the tables in the middle of the massive building. Daisy sat placidly, books brimming over the edges of the tough wood.

She didn't seem to be reading one of the books, but rather all of them all at once, jotting notes as she shifted them around in a controlled sort of chaos. I sat down in the chair across from her, putting the book she'd lent me on the table.
She looked up as though I'd abruptly broken her concentration and she smiled.

"Rosella."

"How are you today?"

"Fine," I said, my fingers tracing the book on the table.

"Did you like it," she asked her face carefully on mine.

I didn't say anything but just sat down. "Is there any chance it's true. The idea, I mean?"

"It's entirely speculative. Why?"

"It just felt real. I don't know."

"Do you think its real?"

I thought for a moment. "I don't know."

"You know, you might like some of these other books."

"I haven't finished the one you lent me," I admitted.

She smiled and pushed up her glasses. "Finish it now if you want."

I sat down, she moved some of her books out of the way, and I read on.

If I ever personally encountered such a person, which it hardly seems like I would, I would ask them if they could feel the souls inside them. I would ask what it would feel like to be driven to do things that weren't necessarily natural to them. I would love to ask if they got any skills. For example, if the soul of a pickpocket was put into someone innocent who'd never even thought about it, would the innocent then have the ability to pickpocket...

In an instant, I felt a gripping fear. What did this author know? What did Daisy know that she'd given me this? I was going to be discovered.

Discovered doing what exactly? The book was fiction.

But still, Daisy seemed to know something about me. Did she know that I stole? I needed to get out of there.

But wouldn't that be more suspicious? I forced myself to stay sitting, but I must have looked uncomfortable.

Daisy looked up at me. "Is something wrong?

"No. Not at all."

"Are you sure?"

She was prying. How dare she.

"No. I already said there was nothing wrong." I snapped.

"Ok. If you're sure."

"Yes. I'm sure. Why did you lend me this book anyway?"

"I thought it might be useful to you," she said, barely seeming to notice my sudden bout of extreme irritability. She looked disinterestedly back down at her books.

"How would fiction be useful to me?" I muttered to myself, but she looked up.

"You didn't seem so sure it was fiction earlier."

"I-I."

"You saw something of yourself in this book."

"How would I have seen myself in it?"

"I don't know, Rosella. I'm trying to help you, but I can't do that if you won't let me."

"I don't need help." I snapped.

"Fine," she smiled. Then she reached into her bag. "Just do me a favor."

I furrowed my eyes. "What?"

"I want you to tell me the truth."

"Ok. Fine. I don't have anything to hide," I lied.

"If that's the case, I just want you to honestly say that you haven't stolen anything today."

I went cold. "Why would you think I've stolen anything?"

"Just say the words, 'I haven't stolen anything today.'"

My insides lurched. An instinct to get out as fast as I could come over me. I couldn't fight myself as my mouth started to move.

"I haven't stolen anything today," I said, sounding betrayed by the idea, the lie as smooth as though it had been the truth.

She nodded. "I trust you, Rosella. Should I?"

I slipped my hand into my pocket and felt the crumpled bills there. I didn't say anything.

"Rosella?"

"You don't know me," I whispered. "You shouldn't do anything for me. You shouldn't trust me."

"It's not your fault," she said, just as relaxed as ever.

"What's not my fault?"

"I think you know," she said, closing her book.

"How do you know?" I asked, putting all my effort into not slipping away. She'd discovered me. She'd somehow discovered me.

She stood up, gathering all her books, including the one she'd lent me.

"You're not invisible."

She started to walk away, but my legs were under me of their own accord and I rushed to catch her.

"What did you see?" I hissed.

She smiled all the way up to behind her huge glasses. "Nothing. Just you might want to wear more than sunglasses if you don't want to be recognized in public."

"What. Did. You. See?"

"Just someone who isn't at fault."

"Who are you kidding? Of course, it's my fault." I hissed.

"It's not your fault, Rosella. There are certain things that happened to you. There are certain things in you."

"In me. Like I have a parasite or something? It's my fault and only my fault."

"Do you honestly think that these books are fiction?"

"I don't know. Are they? Aren't they? I don't really care."

"Rosella, what illness do you think you had?"

"It doesn't matter to you." I snapped. Something in me needed protected fromw hatever lies she was going to sprout next.

"Humor me?"

I thought about the book, and I knew. Soul sickness.

"I don't know," I told her.

"Think."

"I'm not- I don't- are you saying?"

"What do you think I'm saying?"

"How would I get a bunch of other souls inside me? Who's are they?"

"There you go," she smiled, "you got it. I can show you tonight if you want."

"Tonight?"

"Yeah. Tonight."

"Daisy," I said, looking at my reflection in her lenses, "is there any way to fix me?"

"I don't know. That's what I've been researching."

"How did you know I had- that I was?"

"I'll explain everything tonight," she said, crossing the library and pushing open the door, "I promise."

"Ok."

"I'll meet you at your apartment. Try not to steal too much more money before I see you again."

She smiled, but I didn't. "Thank you."