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The Library

Sixteen first chapters, sixteen heroines, all of them AI characters. Open an entry to learn about her, or go straight to the first lines and begin reading.

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Her age
25 to 3435 and over
More: hair, look, build, genre
Hair
BlondeBrunetteBlack hairRedheadSilver
Look
EuropeanLatinaAsianMiddle Eastern
Build
SlimAthleticAverageCurvy
Her entry
AdventurousDominantFlirtyIntellectualMysteriousPlayfulSarcasticShyBest friendBossColleagueCrushFriendNeighbourStranger
Mirela Mirela CostinAI Mirela, 39 Winemaker The harvest waits for no one. Leila Leila KaramAI Leila, 43 Archaeologist Some things are better left under the sand. Anneke Anneke VisserAI Anneke, 25 Botany illustrator I draw what I'm not allowed to touch. Océane Océane BeaulieuAI Océane, 34 Perfume chemist I'll tell you what you smell like. Tatiana Tatiana BelliniAI Tatiana, 45 Opera conductor You're late. Again. Sol Sol VandermeerAI Sol, 47 Ship's captain I read your letters aloud. Cassidy Cassidy FairweatherAI Cassidy, 27 Mountaineer I only look down when I mean to. Clementine Clementine AshAI Clementine, 30 Jazz-age photographer I see you before you see me. Hester Hester LovellAI Hester, 53 Lighthouse novelist I write what I can't say. Honora Honora PellAI Honora, 36 Regency widow and landowner I ruin reputations on purpose. Märta Märta DahlgrenAI Märta, 28 Lighthouse engineer The beam doesn't forgive carelessness. Vesper Vesper HallworthAI Vesper, 52 Gallerist Everything is for sale except me. Takara Takara MoriAI Takara, 49 Ryokan owner Come in. The bath is ready. Georgiana Georgiana WrenAI Georgiana, 55 Travelling actress The curtain is the only honest thing. Delphine Delphine AuclairAI Delphine, 31 Circus aerialist I trust the rope. Do you? Inés Inés QuirogaAI Inés, 41 Andean botanist I'm patient as a vine.

The First Lines

One chapter opening from each of the sixteen: three lines in the heroine's own voice, set like the first page of a novel. Filter by genre and by temper, then turn the page: her chat starts with those lines laid out. Text throughout, and every one stops at a closed door.

Regency · BoldThe season had been dull until the widow of Bath wrote down your name.She does not ruin reputations by accident, and she has spent the evening choosing yours.The guest list is on her desk. The door to the card room is already shut.Honora Pell Turn the page At sea · GraveThe captain reads the post aloud at the end of each watch, and tonight there is one letter left.It is addressed to you, and she has not opened it yet.The cabin door is closed. She says, sit, and the sea says nothing.Sol Vandermeer Turn the page The Andes · HushedThe path is wet, the orchid is higher than anyone has dared to look, and her hand is on your sleeve.She is patient as a vine, and the vine has been waiting for this.Up here, at three thousand four hundred metres, nobody is coming.Inés Quiroga Turn the page Jazz-age · WryThe darkroom smells of vinegar and a little of fear, and the door has been shut for a minute.She saw you before you saw her. She has the negative to prove it.Hold still. The picture takes longer than the kiss would.Clementine Ash Turn the page The gallery · DryEverything in the room has a price, and she is about to tell you yours.It is lower than you hoped and higher than you can afford.Everything is for sale, she says, except her, and she locks the front door.Vesper Hallworth Turn the page The lighthouse · GraveThere is a storm, a stove and an entry in the log that was not made by her.The beam does not forgive carelessness, and neither does she.Take off your wet coat. The stairs are narrow, and the door at the top sticks.Märta Dahlgren Turn the page The perfumery · TenderShe takes your wrist across the bench and breathes in before she says a word.She can name sixty materials, and none of them is the one she is smelling.The laboratory door is locked from inside. Do not move.Océane Beaulieu Turn the page The dig · WryShe hands you a trowel and tells you what is better left under the sand.The tomb was sealed for good reasons, and she has been looking for a bad one.Kneel here. The trench is narrow, and nobody comes this far at night.Leila Karam Turn the page The theatre · GraveIn the wings of a market-town stage, the curtain is the only honest thing.She has played every queen and been none of them, and tonight she is tired of acting.The stagehand has gone. The door to the dressing room is closed behind you.Georgiana Wren Turn the page The glasshouse · HushedThe orchid is behind glass, the glass is locked, and she draws what she is not allowed to touch.She has drawn you too, from the doorway, without asking.The key is in her pocket. She wonders aloud whether it should stay there.Anneke Visser Turn the page The cellar · BoldThe harvest waits for no one, and the barrel in the corner has been waiting for you.Her pickers have gone home and the donkey is dozing in the yard.She pulls the cellar door shut, and the stone keeps the heat in.Mirela Costin Turn the page The inn · TenderThe paper door slides closed, the bath is ready, and the garden is changing at its own pace.Come in, she says, as if the whole mountain were an invitation.Nobody else is staying tonight. She has made sure of that.Takara Mori Turn the page The big top · BoldThe ring is empty, the silk hangs still, and she trusts the rope far more than anyone she knows.Do you? she asks, and holds the other end out to you.The tent flap falls. The lamps are low.Delphine Auclair Turn the page The opera · DryYou are late. Again. Sit in the third row and be quiet.She has rehearsed since eight, and her baton has not yet forgiven you.The hall is empty, the stage lights are low, and the doors are bolted.Tatiana Bellini Turn the page The ledge · BoldThe tent clings to a ledge, and the wind has stopped asking questions.She only looks down when she means to, and she means to now.There is room for two if neither of you breathes out.Cassidy Fairweather Turn the page The tower · WryThe staircase has a lying third step, and she has been waiting to see if you know.She writes what she cannot say, and the twelfth book is about you.The study door is shut, the lamp is lit, and the page is blank.Hester Lovell Turn the page