How To Get Rid Of Musty Book Smell の小説・ストーリー

The floor was worn parquet and her footsteps scuffed as she hurried after the staff member who was obviously doing butler duties. He opened a door to her left and ushered her into a very comfortable sitting room with a huge fireplace down one end, where a collection of couches and arm-chairs were arranged in front of it. Bookshelves stood against the white paneled walls, piled high and untidily with vast amounts of books. There were occasional tables scattered about and littered with various knickknacks, piles of papers, more abandoned books, plus a few cups and saucers. Old silk rugs covered the floor, softening the stark feel of the place, but nothing could mask the faint smell of must and

“Where my next target is. I am hoping, now that I have read the book, cover to cover, I can exchange it for the opportunity to read a very rare tome that they possess. It is a fair trade.” The smell hit me as the bitter scent of the magic faded. It stank. The smell was indescribable. Refuse, fish, bodily waste... I saw someone empty a chamber pot out of an upstairs window onto the street below, and someone else throw dirty water from a bucket. Rivyn kept Coryfe to the centre of the street so as to avoid any putrid liquid, and made a sound of disgust, and then amusement as a man was caught in a discard from above and began to curse.

Nearly everyone I passed gave me a wide berth. It made getting to the library a lot easier. I entered with a soft sight, breathing in the scent of book and the faint sterile scent in the air. The school had installed a bunch of UV air filters to keep the books in peak condition.

The tip of my finger traced the picture of the sword as I read the same three paragraphs that I’d been reading for more than five dozen times. Without looking up, I used my free hand to summon another ball of smoke that brought the Book of the Damned from inside the cupboard where I’d hidden it to the spot next to my right thigh. “How do one cure Mad Wolf?” I whispered as I touched the book’s spine, hoping that the book would open without its lost key and yet again, it was merely wishful thinking. The book wouldn’t budge. Nothing happened. Everything was quiet and still for a moment.

There were various types of wooden crafts and furnitures there. Along with other diverse pieces of furniture, chairs and tables were also present, each serving an important duty. As Razel entered the library, she noticed a different smell, which gave her goosebumps. The antique smell of the pages of old books, the untouched books lying on the shelves, the smell of dust coming from them, the awkward silence all were clearly displaying the mysterious nature of that place. She walked to one of the shelves, but just as she was about to take a book from it, she felt someone's presence behind her.

She sighed, feeling more relaxed from the moment the scent surrounded her. “Vanillin,” he said. “Excuse me?” “The aroma of old books. It’s actually lignin—related to vanillin. It’s why used bookstores have that fragrance they do. I read about it”—he motioned to a book on a shelf to his left—“in a book.” He grinned. She looked him over—maybe a little older than she’d original thought, slightly scruffy, T-shirt with something about obscenities on the chest. “What sort of books do you like?” he asked.

I had been perceiving it ever since I walked into the room. Gertrude left the room immediately, while I was left with Rex, who was looking for a piece of paper to draft a letter with. He knocked over a stack of books on his table, and it crashed on the floor. The scent became stronger, making me go back in to help him pick up the books, The moment I bent down the scent hit me hard. It was a tacky, floral aroma, that had caused me sleepless nights. I traced the source and picked up the book; it was a scented, linen-bound, and hand-stitched notebook.

I hurry over to them and start looking through them. At first it's just paperwork, boxes of files, boxes of cigars and whiskey, but in the last cupboard, I find a box of canisters. Lifting them up, I read: “Scent Blocking Spray” in bold black writing on the red label. Bingo. Relief hits so hard my knees nearly go weak. The box is a plain cardboard box, no writing on the outside, and it's full of maybe eight canisters. I grab one and quickly spray the room to remove my scent, then put it back in the box and close it up.

My jaw clenched at the mere thought of it, I closed my eyes and took deep breaths. Relax, I needed to relax. Opening my eyes my fingers traced the binding until they reached the bookmark and pried it open. The aroma of mustiness and earthly notes hit me and I deeply inhaled. There was no better smell than old books. 'Except my mate.' The thought plopped in my mind and I groaned in annoyance before submerging myself in the book. It was an old tome, written in a fictional form but the legends, prophecies and folklore it contained said to have been real.

But not reading. The room smelled like torn paper and old wood. Dust hung in the air like smoke, swirling with every violent motion Dane made. He grabbed another book, one of the older ones, with a cracked leather spine, and without a second thought, he ripped the cover clean off and flung it across the room. It hit the wall with a dull thud before sliding to the floor in a pile of destroyed pages. “Dane, stop it!” I shouted again, louder this time, stepping fully into the wrecked library.