Not mine, but Tolkien's.
Back to the adventures of Seredhiel of Imladris, paper conservator for the Library
Fallen leaves curled under her hand.
The last of this packet of paper; the Haradi crafter who'd made it departed long since . . . .
"They are ready; will you come?"
Who could have envisioned the storerooms of Imladris so depleted?
Her hand jerked; the cut went wide.
The riders were in the courtyard, with the books for Annúminas, for Aglarond; a last few for Minas Anor. The Great Library scattered . . . .
Another packet opened, this one gold and green, shining with new life. A more hopeful choice, for the books leaving these shores.
These are the papers in question.