Selene sat cross-legged on the smooth stone floor, surrounded by towers of open books and scrolls — many of them old, their bindings fragile, their pages crinkled with age. Her robe had long lost its pristine drape, its edges dusted and creased from hours of sitting unmoving. One hand braced her head while the other slowly turned another page that — like all the rest — offered nothing useful.
The House of the Moon Archives chamber, was vast but silent, save for the occasional rustle of parchment. Its walls were made of pale, polished granite, veined with silver-like streaks that caught the light from the evenly spaced glass lanterns fixed along the walls. The air was still, holding the faint scent of old paper and aged stone. Long wooden tables lined the center aisle, though Selene had chosen to work directly on the ground near the back shelves — closer to the oldest records.
