A grand library of glass books at twilight. Each spine glows with contained light, but the pages are sealed shut by crystal locks. On the central desk: one book lies open, its text shimmering — yet every word melts into static snow upon reaching the margins. A child’s hand (translucent, ghostly) traces the unreadable sentences. Outside the windows, constellations form censored glyphs that dissolve if stared at directly. Cinematic, shallow depth of field, Kodak Ektar film warmth with cold light leaks.