Books were nice. Except those rare cursed books that would spit fireballs or something once you tried to read them. Fuck those books. There were no cursed books stacked up between the hands and chin of Genesis von Harz, otherwise referred to as the (hopefully temporary) host of the lesser plague demon Nux. Just regular books, with fairly average content written in its pages. Stories about made-up worlds, instructions on how to perform this or that sealing rite to keep demons in check, a tome on theories about the possibility of a brief invulnerability pasta can provide if properly enchanted and ingested...y'know, perfectly normal things like that. The books were all due back today, except the one on top of the stack, held in place between the rest of the stack and Genesis's chin; that one was her diary. She liked to keep it handy. Since they were due back, it only made sense to head to the library and return them, so that was where she was going now. She was almost there, too. Good thing, since stacks of books have a remarkable habit of weighing down on the arms of the person carrying them.