The Shadow and The Huntress

It was an uncanny thing that the old ones could do, to go so very still, some marking it as a measure of their patience, others understanding exactly what it was. Stillness has a way to measure the discontent coursing through one's veins, but taking all the time in the world to meet out exactly how one wanted to walk that line. She was young, Faelyn knew that. But then again, so were the countless others that walked these halls and treated him as little more than a tool to be used in one's games. Their machinations in the world at large with so little a concern those they touched in the process. 

They were all pawns to these ones.

You come to one of the greatest houses of knowledge in order to find a guide? It seems that someone gave you poor information. An unfortunate thing, that. But you see, lost little duck, you have stepped into my particular part of the part of the repository, and that puts you in a very particular situation that you do not yet perceive. Your studies so far yield you nothing because you do not yet ask the right questions. And yes, I am someone. It would do you very well to remember that fact. There was hardly a change to the way he spoke, if anything, they became softer, drawing his listener in as he took a few steps forward, his fingers trailing across the shelf in front of him and holding them up, his pale skin not darkened with a speck of dust, held aloft her inspection. It is best not to insult your host's cleaning skills, young one.