I push open the heavy, creaking door of the library, and the scent of aged leather and musty paper envelops me. The space is gigantic, with ceilings that soar high above, held up by arched beams of dark oak. Flickering candlelight casts dancing shadows on the stone walls, illuminating ancient tapestries that depict scenes of werewolf battles and past rulers.
I pass a long front desk manned by librarians and their assistants, my sable creeper sneakers audible on the cold, smooth stone. My steps fall silent occasionally as I cross large, intricately woven rugs scattered about.
I head straight for the aisle Celeste pointed out, offering her a small wave before disappearing between the labyrinth of bookshelves.
Each section is marked with hand-carved plaques, their inscriptions barely legib
