Snippets of some dank stories (except they're actually stories)

Oh sweet cheerful Aunt Jemima syrup aunt bettie its another long en!

“Sir Starbird,” Adalene continued, “where did you get those piercing blue eyes from?”
“Well, Miss Noranie, I guess you could say I got it from a kind young man--well, at least, he was young long ago.” Starbird said.
        There was silence, a strange, quiet silence. The air felt heavy as it lay around them and it seemed to want to drag Adalene down.
        But then a soft ringing noise came back into range, and Sir Starbird started happily again about how his old friend Queelie Zeme met Frank Sinatra, and how she had gotten his autograph. And again, she could hear the cracks of the tiny splinters of ice cracking below them.
“What was he playing, Sir?” Adaline asked.
“Hm?” Starbird, now quite happy at the fact that she was listening, slowed his pace.
“Frank Sinatra, Sir. You said Mrs. Zeme met him. What song was he singing?”
“Oh, well he did a whole show. He sang many songs. I’ll ask Queelie about it later.” Sir Starbird clutched the library door handle with his cotton gloves, leaned back by just the slightest bit, and finally opened the massive door. Holding it open for Adalene, he hummed happily at the tune of the songs that he had mentioned before. When she smiled politely and took his arm, they walked into the library.
“My, it’s quite dark in here, Sir.” Adalene pointed out.
        Starbird disappeared somewhere in the darkness that surrounded them, only to be revealed once again as he lit many orange candles: up along the staircase, the entrance, and above some bookshelves. It was beautiful.
        “Now, Miss Noranie. What should you be doing this evening, after closing hours?” Starbird asked, adjusting the royal blue cape on his shoulders.
        “Well, what do you think I’m doing? I came to check out a book of course.” Adaline ran her hand against some of the leather back books on the shelves. “Have you got any for me? With this dreadful war going on, I do think we need to be distracted from it every now and then, or people will break!”
        Sir Starbird froze, opened his mouth, then quickly decided to shut it again. Instead, he ran (as much as he could)  up the carpeted staircase and returned with a tattered violet book. “You may buy this from me.” He said, bluntly.
This was strange, considering Starbird’s usual personality. “B-buy it, you said? I’d much rather just borrow it, Sir.”