The small town of Willowbrook was nestled between rolling green hills and dense, ancient forests that stretched as far as the eye could see. In the center of this quiet town stood a charming old bookstore called “The Whispering Pages,” its wooden sign swinging gently in the breeze. The store had been there for over a hundred years, its walls filled with stories waiting to be discovered. From the moment you stepped inside, the scent of aged paper and rich ink welcomed you like an old friend. Shelves reached up to the ceiling, cluttered with books of all shapes and sizes, some with worn leather covers and others with bright, glossy pages that shimmered in the soft light. The interior of the bookstore was a maze of narrow aisles and hidden corners. Every inch of space seemed to be dedicated to books, and the atmosphere was filled with a quiet hum of whispers and rustling pages. In one corner, a cozy nook was created with a plush armchair and a small wooden table, perfect for settling in with a favorite story. Light filtered through stained glass windows, casting colorful patches of glow onto the dusty shelves and giving the room an almost magical quality. The windows often displayed scenes from classic fairy tales and fabled lands, their vibrant colors making the stories feel alive. Outside the shop, a garden of wildflowers and herbs grew haphazardly, adding a splash of color and a gentle fragrance to the air. A winding stone path led visitors from the street to the shop’s entrance, inviting passersby to step inside and escape into worlds beyond their own. During warmer months, an old-fashioned bicycle leaned against the brick wall, its basket overflowing with freshly picked roses and lavender. The owner of the bookstore, Mrs. Eleanor, was a gentle woman with kind eyes and a warm smile. She had been running the shop since her youth and had a deep love for stories and the art of storytelling. Her voice, soft and soothing, often drew children and adults alike to listen as she recounted tales from her childhood or recommended hidden gems from her shelves. Mrs. Eleanor believed that every book held a magic of its own, capable of transporting readers to distant places and inspiring their imaginations. One rainy afternoon, the sound of raindrops tapping against the windows created a soothing rhythm. Inside, the cozy atmosphere made it easy to forget the storm outside. A young girl named Lily had just entered, clutching a small umbrella. Her eyes widened as she took in the rows of books, each promising a new adventure. She wandered through the aisles, running her fingers along the spines, feeling the textured covers and reading the titles. Eventually, she found a quiet corner where a dusty old book beckoned her. The cover was embossed with gold lettering and an intricate design of a dragon and a castle. As she opened the book, the words seemed to leap off the pages, inviting her into a story of knights, magic, and daring quests. In that moment, surrounded by the comforting scent of paper and the gentle glow of the stained glass, Lily felt as if she had stepped into a different world—a world where anything was possible, and the only limit was her imagination. The bookstore, with all its hidden corners and stories waiting to be told, was a place where dreams took flight and stories never truly ended.

Answer the following questions based on the passage above.