You step through the door into the room. Before you, you see shelves full of leather-bound books, lining every wall from floor to ceiling. A fire roars in the hearth, giving light and warmth tot he room; there are no windows. Candles burn on pedestals, giving the room a faintly archaic look. On the wooden floor lies a luxurious velvet rug, and the ceiling is wooden also.
  In the exact centre of the room, is a small reading table, and on it lies a book. You look at the shelves; yes, there is a single gap where this book belongs. You move towards it, distracted from your purpose in coming to this place by its mesmeric intensity. It is bound in red leather, and although gold characters flash tantalisingly, you cannot make out its title.