Beneath the quiet abode of Remilia Scarlet lies a structure to which full, unrestricted access is only granted to the privileged few. Such scholarly, and intellectually curious individuals are far and few between, and so it is with the greatest luck that I was permitted to enter the hallowed halls of the Scarlet Devil Mansion's library, the single and most powerful authority on knowledge of the realm and its largely forsaken history.
My guide and the host of this splendid place, the enigmatic Patchouli Knowledge, glided along the wooden floor, her steps leaving swirling echoes of tempered magic in their wake. The boards were old, having withstood the various burdens and tests of time, and yet they held my weight well. Perhaps it was the low hum of ethereal power that coursed through the tall alleys and corridors of the library that preserved it in such a static, unchanging state. Or perhaps it was simply that I was the only person, aside from Patchouli and her diminutive assistant, Koakuma, who had passed over this particular section of the library, even in all its long, perennial existence.
"Are you looking for something in particular?" asked Patchouli as she pattered in and out of the shelves, with me trailing in her wake. "Like a grimoire of earthen spells, or some tome of history? Or," she paused, and turned to glance at me cautiously, "something even beyond that?"
I shrugged. "I will take whatever you are willing to offer, librarian."
Patchouli allowed herself a small smile. "Such humility. Very well, you'll see what it is that we hide from the eyes of the ever-inquisitive world."
Feigning shock, I continued, "I was not aware that you hid any such things in here."
"Come now, traveler." Patchouli mocked stifling a yawn, or at least, that was what it seemed like to me. "You are here in the greatest resource our land has and will ever know, and you assume that the place is safe enough for even the deadliest of Gensokyo's secrets to simply be lying around, free to be procured and produced at expense of the world? Don't look so scared, now," - she had seen the now genuine look of surprise that appeared on my face following her words - "we keep everything tightly under wraps. Here we are."
The process that followed was too complicated for me to reproduce in words - or it's entirely possible, too, that some kind of silent amnesiac was cast upon me throughout - but when all the intricacies were done with, I found myself at the foot of a set of stairs even older than those of the main entrance, and in a chamber that looked even mustier than the already decrepit-looking upper level of the great library. This second basement floor was by no means smaller than the first, but the floors were marked with stone, and the lamps lighting the way forward seemed to carry a more sinister air. Patchouli, lantern in hand, began to walk, and I hastily followed.
As we journeyed, I felt the presence of some other entity nearby, but failed to pinpoint its exact location until the moment we turned the corner of one of the endless, ubiquitous wooden racks lining the chamber, and found myself face to face with an impish, "devilite" girl. She nodded as my gaze turned to her, and after recovering from being startled by her sudden appearance, I nodded back, and said, "Good evening, little devil."
Koakuma flinched at my unexpected transliteration of her name, but had no reply for me.
"There are no mornings or evenings here, traveler." Patchouli's voice reverberated around the hall, which was getting thicker with mist with every row passed. "In this place, all the books here are fast asleep. Only eyes cast upon their pages can awaken them from their slumber."
"You speak as if the books are alive," I interjected, "but are they not simply words on pages, some bound magically to this world, whilst others are simply left to be read and discarded at will?"
"To know of the soul of something is to, quite literally, read it like an open book. In here, things are no different." Patchouli stopped, and a leather-wrapped tome slid out of its slot in the shelf, flying elegantly into her outstretched hand. She handed the tome to me. It was heavy, and the pages were ragged, but I endeavored, with Patchouli's good graces, to indulge myself in it nonetheless. Opening the pages, a strange array of words and numbers greeted me.
"What am I looking at?" I asked as I pored over the text, my mind drawing a complete blank over its meaning.
Patchouli raised her eyebrows. "See for yourself, traveler. The soul of this book is yours to know now."
I looked back at the yellowing pages again.
And, without warning, the world faded to black.
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