As you stand, gazing at the dilapidated library, unused and unloved for what seems like ages. The cold, heavy, air envelopes your entire bodies. Multiple layers of clothing hardly any protection from the cold. The walkway between the two balconies cracking at the faintest step. The moonlight cast a ghoulish glow through the dirty windows. Vines form a twisted maze upon the side of hall, spreading ever higher towards the roof. The walls show black decay from neglect, splotches of color hint at the houses’ former prosperity and cobwebs cover the corners of the doors, tiny black spiders threading towards their prey.
The door begrudgingly creaks open. A musty, dank odor creeps into your nose. A dead silence greets you, broken only intermittently by the muffled rasps and moans of the floors. Black and brown blotches pepper the ceiling, signs that this part of the roof has seen better days. Sharp shadows roam around the room, a play between the relatively bright light of the candles you carry and the deep void that fills every inch not touched by candlelight. A large jagged hole dug through the wall stood as though daring any to enter, the last vestige of a passage to another wing perhaps. Several misplaced grand bookcase stand around the room, undisturbed for longer than any of you care to think. Selecting the correct book could reveal a secret doorway into a labyrinth, uncover hidden mysteries, reward you with treasure or cause your perdition as the words you find written in some long forgotten book slowly inches your sanity towards the precipice.