[ You enter the Library. Shelves form labyrinth corridors of books, between which are heaped precarious piles of paperbacks. Leather wing-back chairs provide privacy around the crackling fireplace at the back— if someone was sitting in one, you'd never be able to tell until you circled the full way around to the front to see. Expensive looking paintings line the walls, and you'd expect the shelves to be laden with rare editions. However, there's hardly any hardbacks at all, most everything is cheap spy novels and erotica. No accounting for taste, really.

There are entrances to the West and South.

There is one library shelf set apart from the others— a display case with a glass front and a thick book bound with tattooed hide inside. Cracks radiate outward, where it seems like someone smashed their fist through the glass to gain access. Do you want to read it? ]