She doesn't look convinced. "Okay, baby. I'll try not to worry." She muttered the last portion of her sentence. "Unlikely." She looked down at the ashes of the book. "I don't know, but I'm going to find out." Her hand reaches out, settling itself into the ash.
Just as her form had done, now so she did with her mind. She reached for the threads of impression, of history. Of the books purpose and meaning. Everything had a purpose, especially books. What was it, what was it? And why did it do that?
((Feel free to narrate this for me. She'll get the purpose of the book, the information it was meant to impart, possibly any strong emotional ties this book has connected to it. And if the book had any sentience, best believe she'll know that too.))