In corners draped with silence,
where the dust of ages bows,
stand the shelves unseen, untouched,
by mortal hands, by gaze distraught.
Initiation begins where light falters,
beyond the threshold where sages linger.
Read not the words, but the shadows beneath—
the ink of night draws secrets of old.
A candle flickers at the heart of the maze,
guiding timid souls through stories unspoke.
The library breathes, an entity of lore,
inhaling the naive, exhaling the wise.
Ley lines converge in whispered arrhythmia,
echoing passages written in the tongue of stars,
etched into the soul of wood and parchment,
ready to unveil the riddle of beginnings.
Take heed, traveller, to the unseen path,
to footfalls soft and intentions sagacious.
In the depths of this tome-bound sanctuary,
lies the mercy of awakening, of rebirth.
For every initiated circle aligns,
not in conquest but in communion with shadows.
Henceforth, may your passage be light-brimmed,
as you wander where no one dares to tread.