彼女は、図書館ではない。彼女が、図書館の心臓だ。

The 38-year-old Asian woman, a librarian, was clad in decayed black lace with a thin fabric woven with dried moonlight hidden underneath. Her skin, like porcelain covered in a thousand years of ash, was covered in fine cracks, through which a faint blue light filtered. Her hair was long, countless thin strands, each dyed a different shade of ash, each swaying as if quietly breathing. Her left eye reflected her own image like a mirror, while her right eye was a vortex of infinite letters—within this vortex, the last line of every book she had read was repeated forever. Her expression was the merciless serenity of someone who "knew everything." With her right hand, she knotted a black thread stretching from her chest in mid-air. At the end of the thread, a book floated, its cover engraved not with her name, but the words "Something You Forgot." With her left hand, she was gently closing a book that had fallen to the floor with her fingertips. On the pages of the book, the face of the man she once loved is depicted over a hundred times with different expressions. The lighting is a reverse light source born from her shadow - the shadow emits light, and that light inscribes the name of the "reader" in reverse on the spine of the book. Looking down from the ceiling, Ingres captures her figure as an offering on an altar, and in the background, instead of a bookshelf, countless books have transformed into human form, gazing at her and bowing quietly. The style is that of a mythical portrait, but its beauty is like the remnants of a lost prayer.