I closed my eyes expecting nothing. Maybe four hours of black unconsciousness, the dreamless kind your body forces on you when organ failure becomes a realistic scheduling concern. Instead, the dark behind my eyelids shifted, warped, and pulled me sideways through something that felt like falling through a floor that didn't exist into a room that absolutely shouldn't.
The library.
Same as before. Shelves that went up forever into a ceiling that wasn't there, books glowing in soft purple and gold like they were alive and breathing. Same impossible architecture where perspective broke down if you looked at any single point for too long. The floor existed because I was standing on it, but the moment I tried to focus on the material or color, it slipped away from my attention like a word on the tip of your tongue that refuses to form.
