Two clumsy sages stood before the Grand Book of Lost Lore. Alabaster robes, check. Golden scroll, double check. But alas, the sacred tome had one simple wish:
Do NOT turn the page after 12 o'clock, else the cataclysmic sneeze of the ancient librarian would awaken.
In a dimly lit chamber, where dust motes danced like tiny ballerinas intoxicated by oblivion, our heroes dared to flick through the pages of eternity. The clock ticked relentlessly, a metronome for a play they never rehearsed.
Sage Anton: "Surely, half a page won't hurt?"
Sage Bartholomew: "Nonsense! It is our destiny to read... even if a whole chapter is too much!"
The reader's remorse: a tale bound in leather, narrated by the yowling of a very awake librarian.