I walked through the door and entered an old, dusty library. It had a peculiar shape, that of an inverse cone. Looking up, it gave me the impression that I was trapped in a pit. In a fleeting thought, I wondered how one would climb out. The shelves were old and worn, almost as if they grew into their shape organically. Dust in the air, illuminated by the blinding sunlight coming from the windows above, twirls at my every movement, signifying that this place has been abandoned for ages. Perhaps it was never visited, or never meant to be visited. Scrolls and tomes were scattered all around the floor, and some lay open on a large wooden table in the middle, the surface of which resembled the trunk of a rather large tree. And yet it was man-made. Or at least made by intelligence, I excluded no thought since I began exploring this place.
Curious, I glanced through one of the books that lay across the wooden surface. It was written in that peculiar tongue. I could not understand it, of cours