The town library was a magical place, always bustling. People came and went, stories were shared, knowledge was absorbed. Adults felt content while children remained calm. It was a quiet haven away from the noisy world.

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From the moment the doors opened, it became a hub of activity. Then, when they closed and the lights went out, silence fell.

Until…

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“The coast is clear!” whispered Milly Mouse.

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Dozens of mice flooded in. Books were pulled down, pages turned, and squeaks were quickly hushed. While some mice darted straight to the fact books (the library had quite the rodent section), Milly preferred stories that whisked her away.

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By morning, the library was left exactly as they’d found it. No one had the faintest idea what happened after hours.

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But over time, things changed. The books became worn, and fewer people visited.

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“Everyone’s too busy,” the librarians sighed. “They prefer screens now.”

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One day, a poster went up: the library was closing due to lack of funding. When the mice saw it, a heavy sadness fell.

“How could such a magical place shut down?” Milly said. “What will we do?”

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The mice gathered to discuss. Eventually, a shy voice piped up, “I have a cousin who spoke of a magic hare in the forest… maybe he could help?”

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The next morning, the mice set off. After asking around, they found the wise and kind Henry Hare.

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When they explained, Henry nodded slowly. “I might be able to help, but I’ll need your assistance. I’ll need sap from the trees and the prettiest flowers you can find. Hundreds of them!”

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The mice worked hard gathering everything and returned to Henry.

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“For the magic to work,” he said, “you’ll need to fix the broken books with sap, decorate the library with flowers, and leave your favourite stories out where they’ll be seen.”

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He closed his eyes and spoke:

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“To complete this save-the-library quest,
And allow my magic to do the rest,
Flowers must be neatly displayed,
Books mended and stories laid.”

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The mice thanked him and rushed back. That night, they worked with care. By dawn, the books looked fresh, the library was beautiful, and Milly’s favourite stories sat proudly on display.

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They waited nervously.

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The door unlocked. In came the librarians, followed by the mayor, two suited men, and a woman from The Gazette.

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They stopped, stunned. One librarian gasped while the mayor wandered over and opened a book.

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“This was my favourite when I was little,” she said softly, a smile spreading.

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One of the men cleared his throat. “Right, so we plan to change this space into two apartments, four offices…”

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But the mayor wasn’t listening. She was absorbed in the book.

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Eventually, she looked up. “Let’s postpone the meeting,” she said. “It would be a shame for the public not to enjoy what the librarians have done here.”

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The librarians exchanged confused glances, but said nothing.

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The next day, The Gazette published a very different story than planned. It wasn’t about offices or flats. It was about the library’s mysterious transformation, complete with a photo of the mayor curled up with her childhood favourite. The article was titled The Enchanted Library.

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Soon, people were queuing around the corner. Donations poured in. The mayor became a regular visitor. And whenever the flowers began to wilt, the mice quietly returned to work, keeping the magic alive.

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The librarians never did find out how the library had been saved.

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But then, one day, a new book appeared on the shelves. Smaller than the rest, written in tiny, careful handwriting.

Titled — The Enchanted Library, by Milly.