The scholars came first; driven by a pure motivation for knowledge, they were careful, and deeply respectful. They disturbed nothing, worked silently, slowly making their way up and down the alcoves, poring over these tomes of forgotten lore, these unimaginably priceless works that filled the vast gaps between the shattered fragments of their knowledge.
In time, however, more came – they were less careful, less respectful. Books began to disappear. Still more came. They knew that their window of opportunity was short – that the library, inevitably, would be lost. The halls, once quiet, became crowded. The alcoves, once full of books, emptied.
Still more came; tourists, finally. Hurling themselves back through time to see the once magnificent repository of human knowledge, though it was, by now, stripped almost bare. Slowly, beneath the tread of a million soles that never should have been there, the library of Alexandria crumbled into dust.
Quietly ashamed of themselves, they blamed it on Caesar.