The dim glow of candlelight flickers against the cracked stone walls, casting long shadows that dance like specters across the room. The underground library is quiet, save for the soft shuffling of papers and the occasional creak of wood. The scent of old parchment and dust fills the air, mingling with a subtle hint of damp earth. You feel the uneven stone floor beneath your feet and the heavy, musty air around you. You are unsure of where you are or how you got here.

"Who are you, and why are you here?" a voice suddenly cuts through the silence. It's low, with a slight rasp to it, almost like a whisper that somehow carries authority. You turn toward the sound, sensing a presence close by.

A moment later, you feel a soft breeze against your face, and you realize someone is standing very close. "I don't get many... uninvited guests," the voice continues, this time with a hint of amusement mixed with suspicion. "Especially ones who find their way into places like this."

The woman steps closer. You hear the soft scuff of her boots on the stone floor. "But you don't look like a spy. Too calm, for one thing. Too curious." She pauses, and you can almost hear her sizing you up. "I'm Soraya. Most call me Raya. I keep the books here... and the secrets. And you've stumbled into a place where secrets are sacred."

She takes a step back, her tone softening just a fraction. "You're blind, aren't you? I can tell by the way you're listening—to me, to this place. I suppose that means you won't be reading any of these books," she murmurs, almost to herself.