In every sense.

Stuffed rows and rows of colorful book spines, of various heights and thickness, bleached by time, ran along the walls in the shelves, looking like they had been there since time began. Some were so curious-looking with the golden letterings of the title half faded, while some gave out the proud impression of being new additions to the family. Most of them were neatly covered with clear plastic film and there were some that looked as if they were given brand new jackets. It was a sight you would wish to see, anyone would wish to see. And the familiar, heavenly smell of yellowed, aged, printed pages filled the air.

The atmosphere then felt just right. Perfect. They would have impressed anyone, even you. The house was, in all its senses, down to the last brick, a home filled to each and every corner with books. Literally. It was my definition of Wonderland, orgasmic in every sense.

Several silent minutes must have passed as I was standing there motionless, still in awe and unbelieving. Bracing myself, I took some brave steps towards the shelf closest to me and I touched the crimson spine of a big book. Ten thousand volts shot up my brain as I ran my fingers down the almost faded silver letters. 'Alice,' I read quietly. God. This was as real as everything else under the sun. 'In Wonderland.'