All I want to tell you is that Xenon now has a bratty younger sister named Mercury and she is awesome.

“Can we go?” a pea-pod green voice slid through the spokes of her brain and flung Xenon away from the scroll to flop in an ungainly heap on the rocky shores of Now.

“No, Mercury, no! No, going is not what we can be doing. We are nowhere in the vicinity of going, ‘Go’ is a subset of values that we have not yet encountered,” the goblin moaned, rubbing both of her eyes. “I told you when we got here that I was staying until the Library closed.”

Mercury blew out her green cheeks in disgust. “But I’m really, really stillwater. The Children’s Section closed hours ago.”

Xenon swiveled her neck to look out one of the stone windows at the angle of the sun. A quick calculation told her that even with the  most generous of head-math, the Children’s Section of the Archivus Eldracon had only closed thirty minutes prior. She snapped her head back to consider her younger sister. Mercury was nine years old, feet swinging and not touching the stone floors of the Library. Her dark hair was twisted into a sensible clump, fiercely warded by her mother’s red bone-clips. The younger goblin kicked back in her chair, freeing her belt-dagger and set to sharpening it on a small whetstone. The rasp made Xenon wince against her will.

“Look,” Xenon pleaded, hands covering her face “I only brought you along because Mom made me bring you along. And because you promised that you would wait patiently for me to finish my work today. I know this room must seem very boring compared to the Children’s Section --”

“Children’s Room’s got tunnels. And a tree that sings songs. And marmalade cookies and fresh milk,” Mercury continued to sharpen her dagger.

Xenon spoke from between her fingers, “Maybe a book or two?”

The younger goblin paused her work to deliver a blistering look of Complete Disdain. Xenon recognized it as being one of her mother’s signature attacks. Her sister had been learning from the master.