Chapter I

 

    There was little sight and barely any sound. All one could even try to hear would be the currents of air the ceiling vents huffed out, their windpipes kept at constant pressure by the massive lungs of AC units mounted on the roof, while exit signs provided beacons to mark the checkpoints of escape in case of emergency, but they doubled as guides around the filled, dry shelves.

    At least for Cecelia Daboville they did. But as was at the moment, she couldn’t exactly get any use of them. She didn’t even have a sense of sight at all.

    That’s because she was a cookbook at the moment, idly dozing in the nonfiction wing of her local public library.

 

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    Earlier that day she had strolled on in just like anyone else would, but she timed her arrival just before closing hour, meaning nobody except the librarians got to witness her perfect stride, her cute bobbed hair, or her enthusiastic bubble booty that bounced behind her.

    Cecelia appeared calm and introspective as she spent a few moments perusing the selections of books and DVDs around her. But it was only when she saw the short, frizzy-haired front desk attendant leave her seat that she knew it was time to decide. Stay or go.

    As fate would have it she chose to stay, but not in an appearance one would predict. Once Cecelia deemed herself out of the librarian’s sight, she exhaled smoothly, closed her eyes, and allowed her mind to slip. Her whole body started to feel warm, loose and relaxed as it enveloped her clothes. She reduced her size as her legs collided, her arms dwindling into her sides. More and more she shrank while her facial features, hair, breasts and torso painted themselves a marble white only to melt into the nickel-sized puddle Cecilia had become.

    The next phase of her devious plan would prove to be a challenge, but that wouldn’t technically begin until the librarian turned all the lights off. Knowing she had to wait, Cecelia pulled up into a larger, firmer ball of fluid only to change color once again to dark green. Reshaping into a round, wheeled stool just like the others placed across the library’s shelves, she formed the manufacturer’s sticker at her base but cut an ovoid section out of it to give room for her eye.

    It turned out the librarian had been far from Cecelia when she reconfigured her body into such a disguise. She never returned either, as evidenced by the lights eventually clicking off in zones, followed by a sweep of external luminescence as the rear exit to the building opened and closed.

    Now it was time to plant. Cecelia melted back into the marble puddle and flowed along the cornered grooves formed by shelves meeting the carpeted floor. Having no sight available as this versatile spoonful of liquid, she had to slowly find her way to a section of the library dedicated to ‘how-to’ publications.

    Her body stretched up a few levels of shelving, extending three slender tendrils as to detect any open space. When one of the tendrils found what Cecelia had been looking for she secreted an adhesive of her own design to the metal surface and hoisted the rest of her malleable self up, then into, the tendril until she resumed her puddle form. From here she moved onto the next phase with her cover artwork in mind.

    Cecelia expanded yet again, but she governed her growth in constraints of rectangular dimensions. Sides 1 and 6 needed to be the largest, to be tall and long. Increasing her width created the remaining sides — 2, 3, 4 and 5 — which were purposefully kept thin in relation to her front and back.

    She started to feel extremely flimsy as a tingling sensation dashed through her, slicing through her vertically hundreds of times in a very literal sense, but she made sure to leave side 3 uncut, for it would serve as her spine. Sides 2, 4 and 5 were now her pages, 1 and 6 her two covers.

    Cecelia then printed her cover art where it belonged: a large pan of tiramisu serving as the centerpiece to a rustic table clad in plates of madeleines and ladyfingers, a babka cake near the edge accompanied closely by a miniaturized English trifle. Then in cursive text came the title which was simply “Allie’s Guide to European Desserts” by Cecelia’s favorite writer Allison Turner, whose name then appeared near the bottom of the front cover. On the back was simply the other half of the pictured table and a paragraph’s description of the written work Cecelia now was, as well as some copyright and publisher statements.

    She had put in very little effort, only relishing the pleasurable pings and caresses she experienced by way of shapeshifting into a copy of the helpful cookbook, even though her pages were blank except for an image here and there. She was soon finished, so she used her malleability to scoot herself against the books accompanying her. As a finishing touch she created and taped over a typed library identifier tag around her spine. Only a piece of literature at this point, she relaxed and drifted off into dreamland.

    The sun later awakened Cecelia by prodding at her pages with its sharp, antagonizing rays. She had no sight in a form so inanimate, yet she was still able to sense light — this fact proven at such a time. But soon she fully regained her sight by opening a human eye at a corner of her back cover. Luckily for her the time was in view. It was 6:02 am, meaning she had time to replant before returning home.

    In a scenario like this one her strategy had always been to install herself somewhere that wouldn’t cause suspicion or confusion when people inevitably see the curvy blonde exit wherever she’d been hiding. That morning Cecelia chose the ladies’ room, always a reliable spot. Her cover and pages fluttered as she let herself fold over and over again into a small, dense paper cube. Then she shrank again and rounded her corners to work herself into the shape of an origami sphere. With a tap to the tough carpet she dropped off the shelf.

    Using her many layers and folds Cecelia was able to make herself roll along the floor, hugging the shelving units’ bases in hopes that the maneuver would allow her to avoid detection by the library’s security system, which its designers boasted would watch over the building like a flock of owls.

    No unexpected vibrations were felt by Cecelia when she approached the bathroom. Relying only on her sense of touch she aimed herself toward its entrance and sped forward, the shuffling of her body under the door exhibiting itself as a rough sensation on the paper ball that was much more than meets the eye.

    Under the sink counter she went. Cecelia parked herself in a corner and started to grow wider and taller as her rounded form began to take on a more pear-like silhouette. Paper became plastic as she simplified her body, hollowing out as she expanded and even became transparent. Curvy ridges and indents embossed their way into existence near the top of what now looked like an empty plastic container to hold liquids or chemicals.

    Soon enough Cecelia was holding just that. As the very top of the container twisted into a blue screw-down cap she allowed a duller blue fluid to trickle down her sides. More and more of it dripped into her at a faster and faster rate until she had filled herself up with the thick substance. On her sides were two clear labels and imagery of marine life. She inscribed her brand names, warnings and recycling symbols but the labels’ main purpose was of course to tell a potential consumer what Cecelia was: a large bottle of hand soap. She remained here for the next two hours, the next time she awakened being around when the library opened at 8 in the morning.

    Soon enough a human, clean, fully clothed Cecelia Daboville left the restroom to embark on her walk home. Someone special would be coming over today, in addition to many other lovely guests. She couldn’t wait.



 
A shot of Cecelia in disguise. Quite the unique choice, though she takes pleasure in being hidden this way.