the mouse squeaks (9)

The whispers become a deafening roar, and the glyphs surge off the paper, swirling around the being like a storm. The crystal atop the figure’s staff shatters, and the fragments scatter like falling stars.

When the light fades, the library is silent. The figure in the cloak is gone, its staff reduced to a charred stick. The book lies closed on the floor, its cover blank and unremarkable.

The being, now clothed in a robe of shimmering silver, stands alone in the center of the room. Its eyes burn with the knowledge of countless lifetimes, and its hands crackle with power. The rain outside has stopped.