The air is still, yet something stirs—
A tremor felt in whispered words.
No longer lost nor fully whole,
The Archives call by pull of soul.
If you have found this hidden place,
Then something old has marked your trace.
Step lightly through the threshold thin—
For once you’re called, you’re beckoned in.
Some shelves will shift, some pages leer,
Not every tale is yours to hear.
Reflections speak in shadowed rhyme,
And echo truths that slipped through time.
Speak “unbound” for vault unsealed,
Where ancient truths remain concealed.
She opens once—perhaps no more.
So read, and reach, and mind the lore.
