Novembius moves soundlessly, a shivering penumbra through the sprawling undergrowth. He leads you to a pale gnarled door, standing alone as if growing upward from the flora. It looks like bone. You place a glyphed hand against the surface.
"Whoa, sick glyphies." Novembius high fives you, and you forget who you are for a few seconds.
The glyphs glow.
The door remains closed, but the reality around you shifts and reforms, and you feel a sudden drop in humidity.
Novembius purrs:
"Welcome to The Library."