Aurelia

Aurelia grew up in an old library cellar, where scraps of paper and drops of ink spilled from above. While other Thimblekin scurried for crumbs, Aurelia lingered under the desks, studying the loops of handwriting and copying them in the dust with her tail. When a painter once stored canvases in the cellar, Aurelia found her calling. She carried off the tiniest fragments of color, fashioning brushes from lint and bristles, and painted on old matchboxes, bits of wood, anything she could claim. The walls of her nook bloomed with miniature landscapes no human ever saw. But libraries are quiet places, and Aurelia longed for an audience—not of applause, but of companionship. When she was discovered, brush still in paw, she did not panic. She only looked up, as if to say, “At last, someone to share this with.” Now she waits, palette ready, easel in place, hoping for a forever home where she can paint in peace and remind her adopter of the beauty in everyday scraps.