Envision a colossal library that stretches infinitely in every direction, its walls lined with bookshelves so tall that their uppermost levels vanish into mist. The books themselves seem alive, their covers shifting subtly as though breathing, and their titles appear and disappear when viewed from different angles. The floor of the library is made of polished obsidian, reflecting the soft, golden light of floating orbs that drift lazily through the air, casting shifting patterns on the walls. In the center of the library is a massive hourglass, its sand flowing upward, glowing faintly as it moves. Around the hourglass, a series of concentric circles are carved into the floor, each inscribed with a language that seems both familiar and completely alien. Occasionally, a shadowy figure moves silently between the shelves, their form indistinct and flickering, as if made of smoke and light. At the farthest visible edge of the library, there is a door carved from white stone, its surface covered in intricate, moving patterns that seem to tell a story you can almost understand. Beyond the door, faint sounds can be heard—whispers, the rustle of leaves, and the distant chime of bells—but the door itself remains locked, and no key is visible.
30.11.2024 19:38