The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Twisted, fungal growths writhe across a vast, dusty, book-filled library like tendrils, the air thick with the scent of decay and old leather. Umm, shelves stretch out in every direction, containing tomes bound in strange materials - one appears to be wrapped in what looks like living, pulsing shadow. Shafts of dim, crimson light filter through the dusty air, casting an eerie glow on the walls as the silence is broken by the soft, whispery turning of pages, like the books are reading themselves. Outside, a perpetual twilight seems to cling to the horizon, unmoving and heavy with an electric charge.