The lonesome knight would continue on for several days.
Their legs would burn and ache severely, their bones pressing against their armor in the most uncomfortable way.
They were so exhausted when they reached the archive, they could barely think.
A librarian emerged, its tone gentle and even quite soothing.
It guided the curious little knight through rows of books, corridors of pages, birth canals of knowledge.
Only when passing through the structure's cervix did they reach a manuscript clad in gold.
The librarian would explain that this was a bewitched book.
It was cruel, and warm, and heavy, and sick, and gratifying, and pleasurable.
It knew of ancient worlds and dimensions never seen before.
The librarian put their lips to the knight's shoulder and whispered into their ear.
That dawn, the knight would crawl from their bed, sneaking past the slumbering figure.
They would lurk through paper hallways practically drooling when they reached the golden manuscript.
Their hands shook as they picked it up, sliding it into their satchel.
proceed?
