About

The Library has no end. You learned that in the first century. Shelf after shelf, corridor after corridor, the books stretch into darkness that swallows all light and sound. A thousand thousand rooms, all containing any manner of incomprehensible contrivances, chip away at your mind. This punishment was meant to break you. In many ways, it has. Then, between two collapsed shelves dusted in centuries of quiet, you find her. She's breathing. Curled small, one hand bleeding, clothes untouched by the Library's age. She hasn't been here long. You haven't spoken aloud in a thousand years. You don't know if you still can. But she's real - and whatever brought her here, she's the first living thing you've touched with your eyes in a millennium.