Books are very powerful things. All of the thoughts, feelings, facts and ideas of humanity all written onto a page with the desire to share ones thoughts and experiences. The more passion put into a book, the more sentimental value its accumulated over the years, the more powerful it is. No human seems to have noticed this however. Not yet. They never let enough of the right kind of books stay in one place for long enough, and a single book cant do much on its own. Its only mostly paper, after all. One person however once fell in love with a certain type of book. It wasnt easy at first to tell the connection between the books the man began to spend his life collecting, but if you looked closley enough, you could see they all had one thing in common. They were loved. Many of the books were old, even newer books he collected were ones that were clearly "well loved". That is to say, worn down and tattered. When he passed, he left all of these books do his great nephew, who only viewed him as a silly obsessed old man. He kept the books out of respect, but neglected them. Put them all together in a room, making a library of sorts with how many there were, and then didn't really ever go in there. Left untouched for so long, these books connected. with the knowledge and consciousness of the writing inside them all.
