F.H. Disillusion: The Library

The heavy oak doors of the Forgotten Hill Museum groan open on their own, creaking like the bones of a long-dead god. Dust swirls in the air, suspended in a single shaft of pale moonlight that pierces through a fractured skylight. The silence is absolute—so complete that your own breath sounds like a shout.

You stand at the threshold.

Before you lies The Library—a cavernous hall stretching into shadowed infinity. Shelves spiral upward, vanishing into darkness, lined not with books, but with strange objects: rusted pocket watches with no hands, jars filled with glowing dust, and leather-bound tomes whose spines writhe slightly when not observed directly.

A single book lies open on a pedestal at the center of the room. Its title, carved in no known language, pulses faintly:
"The First Lie of Forgotten Hill."

From behind a crumbling archway, a voice—dry as old parchment, yet layered with sorrow—whispers:

"You’ve come at last. We’ve been waiting. But remember… the truth here is not what it seems. Not even the silence tells you the truth. And above all… never trust your eyes."

The book’s pages begin to turn—though no hand touches them.

A note, tucked between the pages, reads:

“To find Mr. Larson, you must first solve the riddle of the mirror. But beware—the mirror will show you not your face… but your choice.”

A cold draft brushes your neck.
Somewhere deep in the library, a clock ticks—backward.

Welcome, Seeker.

Will you:

• Approach the open book and read the first line?
• Search the shelves for a clue about Mr. Larson?
• Turn to face the mirror at the far end of the hall—even though it’s not supposed to be there?

Choose wisely.
The game has already begun.

“The truth is not found. It is chosen.”