How to describe these streets: the crumbling black ruins, the wooden shacks erected amongst them; the inky, smoky darkness (these oldest sections, the lowest of three levels) penetrated by braziers from time to time. I step on bricks I cannot see; instead look as if floating over a deep ravine with tiny specks of light like stars. Perhaps nobody knows where its deep river starts or stops.

I stroll, as always, from the abandoned Onyx Fortress, through the courtyard of the Fallen Basilica, and into the gates of the Black Library, as we sometimes call it. Occasionally it allows me to take, with trembling hands, a book to read for an idle hour.

Not for the first time I touch an old foundation stone by the Unseen Road and imagine that it may be Yunisite -- less black than the usual variety, more spiritually transparent perhaps. The depths of the city are endless; some have never seen beyond its reach to open daylight, savoring only the patches where the sun reflects off the crystalline walls and ceilings, reaching these lower levels.

A chilling wind blows across my robes: the breath of the city as it awakens from slumber, perhaps. Mere uninformed speculation, though, from one who knows only what the Black Library will allow.

—Anonymous