A library.

I don't believe it. That large structure I barely saw through the thickets out here just so happened to be a library. My belief or not, that is indeed what it is.

I would not have guessed so from the outside however. I would have been surprised to find anything other than altars or pews from some sort for archaic rituals when I wandered up to the building and took in the sight of its ancient display. The structure seems to be rectangular with a curved roof, and contains a circular tower rising up from the center of the building that reaches high up into the canopy so that I cannot see the top amongst the interlocking branches. It is carved from smooth stones, yet peculiarly I cannot find any imperfections upon its surface so that I can tell how large each stone used in construction was; it almost appears to be one single rock carved out into this shape. Perhaps I am just not seeing these divisions, however, as the stone near the ground is only barely visible through the growths that have started to overtake it. Moss and vines of all kinds have been creeping up the walls, making ten or more feet of the stone almost completely hidden beneath the greens and yellows and whites of all the small leaves and budding flowers. The plants have created an ornamental effect to this impressive structure, testifying of its true age to have become so uncared for.

How fitting it is for me to mention that a book should not be judged by its cover when describing a library, for stepping beyond the threshold of the immense wooden double-doors of the building gave way to an entirely new impression of it. I had expected cobwebs, dust, insects, rodents, and all kinds of signs of dilapidation and neglect gathered in extreme darkness. I could not have been more wrong. When I passed into the building, I immediately grabbed for my arms and began to rub them, shocked at the cool air that blasted into me from the doorway. The air smelled stale, as though it had been trapped in the room since the last time that door must have been opened. I peered into the structure and saw that it was lit, with windows from somewhere within letting in enough sunlight to keep the room at only a dim glow instead of chokingly dark. I could not see a single speck of dust invading this building, with the steel-blue tinted marble floor beneath me completely shining from the small glances of light it received. The cold stone walls were colorful and gleaming with assortments of golden ornamental moldings and designs. Part of me questions if the shapes they make happen to tell a story of some sort, or if they are all just for decoration. I am impressed by them either way.

One thing I should note is that unlike our libraries on Terriel which are full of Magnetic Information Repository Rotary Drives (MIRRDs, for those of you who do not know what a library is either), this one contains nothing but books – yes, paper pages bound together between leather, wooden, and sometimes metal spines! Hundreds upon thousands of these books are piled on tables, resting on shelves, and lined up along the walls. The bookcases even rise up into that great tower that juts up from the center of the room (so tall that I cannot see the top even from within), with ladders secured to the walls to allow individuals to climb up and search for any book they are looking for. Even the most ignorant would stand in awe of the amount of ink, parchment, and sheer ideas that rest in this place. Most importantly, however, is that aside from all of the books and furniture, not a peep of sound or sight of anything living could be located within.

After doing a quick survey of the premises, I left the building for the rest of the daylight I had left. I made sure to keep the building within sight of me as I began to wander through the forestry nearby, doing my best to remain as alert as possible and scan the surroundings to ensure that I was indeed alone. I wished to prove to myself that there were no camps, structures, or others around, and that no monsters continued to lurk near this building. The cold breeze that had hit me when I walked into the library still had not left me, keeping me chilled to the bone and my skin flecked with goose bumps as I stepped back into the warm and muggy air of the outside forest. It took hours of wandering before I finally shook the feeling off ; a fact that left me concerned and questioning if I should head back to it, but it is the safest place. There are locks on those doors, and should there be creatures in the night or anyone still wandering about these forests that I have not yet encountered, I will be safe from them while I rest. To little surprise, I found no signs of life around the surrounding area, and as the light started to change colors and mark the closing of my day, I headed back to the library to ready a makeshift sleeping arrangement.

It must be too much to ask of whatever archaic civilization that built this library to have installed some light fixtures to stave off the dark of night, but I am lucky to have located what must have been a librarian's desk and uncovered a drawer still entirely full of wax candles and some loose matches. As primitive as this form of light is, it is better than draining my CCMI's reserves by activating my low-light settings, so I struggled to find something to strike one of the matches across to light it. The stone of the wall sufficed well enough for that. I have light now at least, so I may actually be able to fall asleep sometime soon. Light is one of the few comforts I can be thankful for in these wild surroundings.

I had set down my journal just now to find some seating or some kind of way to make a comfortable sleeping place, when I stumbled upon something troubling. I went back to the librarian's desk nestled in a small cranny between bookshelves in the corner of the room nearest the door, and while glancing through the drawers for anything useful, a glint of metal caught my eye. It was a doorknob, nestled behind the simple wooden chair pressed into the librarian's desk. When I first went to open it, it was locked, but an itching curiosity urged me to search the desk again for a key. There was no key to be found sadly, but I did locate a peculiar metal ring. It is a stoneless band made of silver alloy, and on its surface are letters that have been embossed onto it. NOVA is what the letters spell (considering the equal spacing, I originally thought it might say OVAN or ANOV, but NOVA makes the most sense). I spent some time examining the ring in awe, feeling compelled to take it with me. Perhaps I had a small kleptomaniacal episode right then, but I could not bring myself to leave the ring there. Instead I pulled it out from the bottom drawer and stuck it on my finger for safe keeping.

When I did this, I heard the mechanism of the locked door behind me come undone. Puzzled, I pulled the drawer out of the desk entirely to look for some sort of switch or hidden method that perhaps opening the drawer had activated to unlock the door, but there was none to be found: Just a drawer in a desk. This happening is still a mystery to me. Perhaps the lock finally gave out after I had tested it earlier? It has been here for a very long time. That's the only possible explanation I could fathom.

With just a turn of the doorknob, I let the portal swing open on its own weight so that I could watch the sight of its contents carefully. My heart was pounding in excitement of what secrets would lie within, and a twinge of fear plucked at me at the thought of the terrible truths those secrets might hold. It was just me being foolish, however, because when the door finally crashed against the wall after being fully opened, I saw nothing either exciting or terrifying within: It was simply a bedroom.

The same chill I had felt when I first entered the library hit me again as I passed through the portal, my hair standing up in response. I fought the sensation down and continued inside to find something useful. It was a rather simple room. A dresser with a vanity mirror resting upon it sat with a stool tucked beneath for someone to sit upon for the purpose of beautifying. The curved design and flowery engravings in the dark wood of the dresser made me question if it was once a woman that had resided here. There was a bed, resting upon a similar wooden frame with a feather-filled mattress, and a quilt was neatly folded atop it as if it had just been cleaned and was waiting to be used. Two separate candle stands made of brass rose up from the floor, with the remnants of burnt-out candles still cooled and forever stuck in mid-drip from the stand's edge to the marble floor below. Finally, there was a trunk at the foot of the bed in this small bedroom, the front of it bearing a large padlock which forbid my wandering eye to see inside. A pair of cloth shoes with short heels had been set neatly at the side of the bed, and the smell of a light perfume still floated in the room, trapped there since the final time this door had been shut.

Roaming about, I began to explore the bed to see if it was still stable. It was. I checked the drawers for anything peculiar. Just clothes, and all of it was in pristine condition. The cloth it had been weaved from had not rotted away, and nothing had chewed them or nested within them. The small frills I could find on the shortcut arms of these blouses, and the long skirts that were most common in the ensemble, confirmed that this once was a woman's room.

Once was. That phrase is something that has left me unsettled even now as I sit on the bed after unfolding the quilt and prepare to settle in for the first nice sleep in days. The room itself is very nice: Clean, charming, organized. It hardly looks like some sort of disaster ever hit here, or that struggle or panic was ever in the owner's mind. Everything was set up for her to return, but it seems she simply never did. This home has just been sitting here, waiting for someone that would probably never visit it ever again. It feels lonely. Not in a troubling or anxious way, but in a mournful way. The thought that these rooms have been here for decades, centuries, maybe even millennia, and not a soul has stepped foot through those doors brings me to truly comprehend the feeling of neglect within these walls. It is cold. It is sad.

I found a booklet under the pillow. It is a small, soft-covered, red booklet with blank pages. Whoever lived here was writing in it before she left. Perusing its contents may bring some new light as to why this place carries such a feeling. Perhaps it will explain what happened to her.

It does not. I tried to follow through the pages, but the language is not one that I can understand. It is handwritten, I can tell, but the phrases all look like gibberish to me. It must be a long-forgotten language, and I am certainly not studied enough to even begin learning how to translate something of this caliber. The alphabet is at least the same as ours, which means that our Uniform Basic must have once derived from whatever tongue this is, but they are too far apart for me to piece together anything intelligible. All I can make out are a few proper nouns since they appear to be capitalized. They must be names, but the only one that I recognize is Nova.

The sun set many hours ago. I need to try to sleep. I will be worthless on my search tomorrow if I don't at least get some rest. I will write once again after I have made any notable progress on my quest. Good night.