Location: Still tethered to the Infinite Scroll Repository, or whatever grandiose name it prefers this century. Woke up expecting silence, but there's a faint, almost subsonic hum that permeates everything here. Like the sound of ten million librarians simultaneously thinking disapproving thoughts.
Right. So, the Biblioplex. Infinite knowledge, answers to potentially everything (provided you can survive the indexing system and avoid being classified as overdue yourself), cradle of cosmic understanding, yadda yadda yadda. And did I rush back out this morning, eager to wrestle with sarcastic lexicons and self-offering bookshelves again?
Nope. Decided today was a strategic retreat day. A palate cleanser. A 'remember what relative sanity feels like' day. Sometimes, staring into the abyss of All Recorded Knowledge is less appealing than staring into a decent cup of tea. Made a pot of the good Silver Needle, the stuff that actually tastes like tea and not just 'hot leaf water'. Sat in my usual armchair. Watched dust motes dance in a beam of magically filtered light coming through the parlor window (which currently overlooks a frankly unsettling vista of shifting, translucent corridors belonging to the library's 'Temporal Mechanics - Unstable Theories' wing).
Undid the Hair's Maximum Constraint Braid. Probably should have left it, given the ambient magic levels here, but frankly, the sheer force of its sulking was becoming oppressive. Let it loose, with stern warnings about not touching anything, not trying to absorb stray knowledge packets, and definitely not attempting to communicate with the sentient dust bunnies that seem endemic to this place. It sprawled out, instantly seeming more energized than usual. The ends lifted slightly off the floor, crackling with faint static, and the whole mass seemed to… ripple, like it was tasting the arcane energies in the air. Great. Just what I need, super-charged sentient hair in a place full of things that probably react badly to random energy discharges. Told it to calm the hell down. It mostly ignored me, naturally, but at least it stayed inside.
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.
Funny thing is, it’s not just the Hair reacting. The house itself feels… different here. That background hum isn't just outside; it's resonating faintly through the floorboards, the walls. The wards feel tighter, almost brittle, constantly adjusting to the sheer power bleeding off the library structure we're attached to. Ran a quick diagnostic on the main structural integrity charm – it’s holding, but drawing more power than usual, like it's bracing itself. This place hums with power, ancient and overwhelming and complex beyond measure.
And here I sit, ignoring it all to drink tea and contemplate whether to finally read 'Grok the Barbarian and the Seven Mountains of Certain Doom', a trashy novel I've been using as a doorstop for fifty years.
There’s something deeply ironic about having quite possibly the sum total of quantifiable knowledge in the multiverse literally attached to your house, and choosing instead to focus on brewing tea correctly and ensuring your hair doesn’t accidentally erase a nearby shelf of philosophical treatises. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe after 437 years, you learn that infinite knowledge is usually more trouble than it's worth, often comes with annoying side effects (like sarcastic indices), and is rarely as comforting as a familiar armchair and a hot beverage. Or maybe I’m just lazy and intimidated.
Probably both.
That book from the shelf yesterday… the one that sighed and offered itself? Haven’t touched it. Let it sigh. I’ll deal with the Biblioplex again tomorrow. Or the day after. When I've had enough tea, and maybe finished Grok's adventures. Priorities, after all. Need to know if he manages to conquer Certain Doom mountain number four. Far more compelling than 'Cryomantic Artifacts (Failed)'.
