The old library was Perdita's sanctuary, a quiet refuge from the vague unease that often settled upon her. Dust motes danced in the lone sunbeam slicing through a tall, arched window, illuminating forgotten titles. She traced a finger over the spine of a leather-bound tome, its gold lettering faded with age.

A shiver, not of cold, but of something deeper, prickled her skin. It was the same sensation she'd felt increasingly lately, a whisper of a presence just beyond her perception.

She glanced around, but the room was empty, save for the silent rows of books. Yet, the feeling persisted, a subtle hum in the air, as if the very walls held secrets waiting to be unearthed. Perdita sighed, a quiet breath lost in the cavernous space. Sometimes, she wished her life felt a little less like a half-remembered dream.