Chapter Text
The shop smelled new and clean and empty for only a few minutes, until its new occupant stepped foot into it for the first time and immediately started employing changes to it.
From then on, the predominant smell was, of course, that of old books. Very, very old books, who´d seen many years, had experienced many hardships alongside their owners and they smelled heavy in the air, when the sun streamed through the windows, heating their old backs. One couldn´t entirely call it a pleasant smell, but it was definitely an interesting smell. Something that tickled the nose, like the smell of dust did too and made you want to dive deeper into the many rows, exploring the shelves.
There were, however, often other smells lingering and mixing with the general odor of a Bookshop. Tea, or cocoa could always be smelled in some variety, often cake or other food, and sometimes, in the evenings, wine. Expensive cologne sifted through the air,whenever the owner walked through it and dust lay on all surfaces and sat against the windows, undisturbed, except when the hands of children drew smileys into it.
Of course, there was often the smell of humans around, as well. This was a shop, no matter how unlikely a purchase was, and humans were its main customers. And with humans came the change. The books stayed the same as their owner, but humans changed. Soap, chimney ash, moth balls, cologne were mostly replaced with deo, with make-up, with the smell of artificial shampoo. Humans brought the outside world with their boots and coats, grass, mud, rain, horse dung, asphalt. They brought their very own smells, their sweat, their dirt, the sound of their laughter, the touch of their fingers. Humans were what made the bookshop lively, despite its very old age.
The bookshop attracted quite a few customers, despite how its owner disliked the idea of parting with his books. It held an atmosphere of calmth and serenity. The bookshop was loved and cared for and everyone who entered it could tell.
But underneath all of these earthly changing layers, there was, always, unfailingly, unchangingly the same smell of something Good.
Good, with a capital letter, as in something pure, something holy.Something, simply, Good, like humans haven´t been since the Garden.
It should,of course, be expected from a bookshop owned by an angel.
Sometimes, the smell of Good intensified tenfold and then the owner of the bookshop would have visitors, visitors he offered stiff smiles and who never stayed for tea. Then the owner would sigh and smile in a sad way and a wind that came from nowhere would blow away as much of the holy air as it could.
And at other times, the bookshop would smell of something Bad. Or rather, someone Bad.
Bad, as in evil. Devilish, hellish.It was a smell that stayed stubbornly in small corners, that clutched greedily at the curtains. It was the smell of a Demon.
It was a welcomed smell, one the owner liked and the owner would greet the visitor with gentle smiles and he would always stay in the evening. The visitor would linger, much like his smell, hesitate in the doorframe, hover against the bookshelves. Everything about him said that he´d much rather stay, just like his smell stayed for much longer than should be physically possible.
But he never did. And the owner never asked him to stay either.