She was a phantom of delight
When first she gleam’d upon my sight;
A lovely apparition, sent
To be a moment’s ornament;
Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;
Like twilight’s, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From Maytime and the cheerful dawn;
A dancing shape, an image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and waylay.
Sophie sat in the big, squishy blue armchair in the corner of a library. This is where she felt safe, comfortable, and happy. She snuggled deep down in the marshmallow of a chair and held up a book titled “Oliver Twist” and started to read. What Sophie did not know, was that while she read…