The water book
The book turned to water as daybreak bled through the night sky. Translucent pages, fragile as a dragonfly, danced in the uplift of her breath, and a literary ballet performed within the covers for her eyes alone.
The book's contents had not been viewed by human eyes before that moment. Some had spoken of its existence, that it had lain hidden under a crystal rock high in the hills. Others thought fairy folk had written it and that it contained the secrets of human flight or eternal life. Many had searched, none had discovered its whereabouts. Until this night of misty shapes and a cold, cold moon.
She had crouched by the silver stream, at ease with the dark and the timid night creatures. Her head was full of wild music and the thrumming beat of the earth breathing. The stream flowed as mercury in the moon's light, the trees gowned with the filigree of webs and the book lay at her bare feet and shone and fluttered and beckoned to her.
Her fingers stroked the cover and the pages with their tiny script and intricate markings performed their dance as her breath misted.
And the book turned to water.