Maribel Thorne

Maribel Thorne tends to Thorne & Thread, the crooked little bookshop folded into the oldest shadow of Auden’s Ridge, where the air always smells faintly of dust, ink, and something harder to name. Her raven-black yet peppered hair is often twisted in a loose knot, her eyes soft and strange like candlelight behind fogged glass. She rarely speaks unless spoken to, but when she does, her voice carries the hush of turning pages and forgotten lullabies. The townsfolk say the shop changes shape when no one’s watching, that certain books refuse to be opened, and that Maribel herself has lived here far longer than she should. She walks the aisles as if retracing steps she took long ago, and at night, the lamps inside flicker long after she’s locked the door. No one sees her leave. Some say she never does.