The Library itself sprawls in vast abandon across hundreds of acres: a monumental mountain of black basalt, white marble and purple porphyry whose columned terraces rise in places to heights of four or more stories. There--where the hollow whispers of long-dead voices are carried on the back of a cold, cold wind--empty towers raise skeltal fingers to the night above an undulating sea of dark and silent roofs, unbroken save by shadowed courtyards, long-dry fountains, sunken gardens now dead and sere...and benighted, empty pools lined with marble statues which are (at best!) "disturbing" to view. No Human hand raised these megalithic walls nor shaped those monstrous, monolithic blocks of dark granite--each, several tonnes in weight and oddly-polygonal in shape--which were laid together, seamlessly, without benefit of mortar and faced with dun ashlar. Only a single, monumental stairway (whose steps were not designed for the benefit of Man) allows access to this literal "Bastion of Knowledge".

There are, too, those other visitors who come--albeit infrequently--to the Library. Perhaps you may glimpse them, fleetingly, down a long corridor or see their shadow flit, briefly, upon the stairs; perhaps you might hear the sound of distant chanting borne upon the wind or harken to the click and clatter of determined footsteps echoing across a darkened courtyard; perhaps you may find a candle--its wax yet molten, smoke still curling from its extinguished wick--or the remains of a meal--still warm and half-eaten--in a chamber newly-entered. In any event, it is unwise (to say the least!) to approach such visitors or seek commerce with them. Far better it is to hasten away: to repair to your own chambers and the protection of your own Guards, Wards and Locks; or to leave Celaeno immediately, returning at a more propitious time. For such visitors come to Celaeno for purposes of their own and you wit not whether their pursuits there be fell or benign, or if their designs be light or dark nor know with certainty upon what Properties, Powers and Patrons they may call...

Let it be here understood: the Great Library is most definitely not a "lending library" by any stretch of the imagination. No volume may be removed from the Library, either temporarily or permanently, nor may any copy of the material therein leave Celaeno. In fact, the Library's keeper--the Dweller in the Lake--is most adamant on that point and most stern with violators. Albeit fortunately the Dweller is limited in its enforcement of that Rule. For those who tread the angles of Space and Time, either by constructing Gates for their own convenience or by translating Themselves instantly across fathomless Space, it is mere child's play to circumvent the Dweller's aeons-old guardianship.

The Library, however, knows its own. Those tomes which do leave the Library are, by one means or another, "called back" to their rightful resting places--usually at dear cost to the borrower. It is great wisdom, therefore, to take only what is most necessary for the moment and return it promptly at the earliest possible opportunity in order to avoid the inevitable unpleasantness which (un)naturally follows.

When visiting the Library, it is best to first establish a secure base camp and work--slowly, patiently and methodically--outward from there, taking one chamber at a time, exploring it and securing it thoroughly from intrusion before moving on to the next. A steady light is absolutely essential for safe exploration, as the light of day rarely touches (and then but briefly!) most of the corridors, halls, rooms and chambers therein so that the Shadows of Night are never quite banished entirely; and there are certain Others--those Dwellers in Darkness--who do not relish the touch of light in any way, shape, manner, form or substance!

It is also best to keep one's Imagination severely in check when visiting Celaeno. For here the weight of Aeons of uncounted Time presses down upon this vast, abandoned edifice over which hangs an atmosphere at once repellant, malevolent...and sentient. A feeling of ceaseless and malign watchfulness pervades every corridor, every hall, every chamber, every courtyard, every room. It is the sense that the Library is somehow aware of each and every visitor--and that it does not delight in their trespass. What walks these echoing, shadowed halls walks--by choice--alone, nor wants nor seeks nor desires the company of Man. Here where the visitor, waking or sleeping, is a trespasser--despised, loathed and unwanted--that visitor constantly feels a vast, brooding presence looming invisibly over him, standing at his elbow in malicious silence and peering over his shoulder with calculated menace even as he reads until the flickering shadows and the cold wind's moaning take on a subtle, sinister significance which preys upon one's worst fears and terrors.

Under such conditions, it can be easy to commit simple errors--errors which, in the isolation and desolation which is Celaeno, can prove fatal...

But in addition to those written works, works of art also abound in the Library for it is more than a mere repository of esoterick Knowledge; it is also a Museum of Art wherein is gathered a unique and priceless collection of art encompassing the entire Universe. Regretably, the nature of that art--whether it be scuplture, paintings, murals, carvings or whatever--is invariably unwholesome if not eminently shocking to view. The shuddersome nature, for instance, of certain marble statues around particular empty pools has already been alluded to. Of all that artwork, those works which leave nothing to the Imagination are terrible indeed--but those which merely hint and suggest, leaving ALL to the Imagination are far, far worse!

It is not that these artworks are merely "surrealistic" but that they are profoundly nightmarish in their style, technique and execution, embodying with form and substance only the very worst our dreaming Minds can conjure. Even more disquieting is the subtle suggestion that the artists who created these works of art worked not from Imagination, but from Life. Particular note must be made here of certain murals which are found throughout the Library--especially those found in long, narrow passages between chambers; in corridors which are dimly-lit or steeped in profoundest shadow.

The landscapes in these murals seem to literally seethe with an inner life, as though striving to burst forth from their imprisoning walls to run riot into their respective halls and chambers. It is not only that the subject matter displayed in these murals range from the disturbing to the blatantly grotesque--often in suprarealistic detail if not ultraphotographic quality and color--but that they seem to change over time. So that a mural which, upon first inspection, may prove merely revolting, upon the next visit may yet reveal a series of hideous details of Outside "life" in all its mind-blasting realism and horror. It is best, therefore, not to look too closely at these; to avert your eyes when passing and to studiously ignore those hints of subtle movement which you may glimpse from the corners of your eyes....

Better still it is to avoid such passages entirely, for there are certain strange and curious rumours of visitors who were seized and devoured by such murals, to become entombed eternally in a world depicted as art, never to be seen in the waking world again.