The Room That Shouldn't Exist

 Okay, I know I’ve said before that the tower likes to mess with me. But this time, it really outdid itself. I found a room that, as far as I can tell, should not exist.

It all started because I was looking for the library. You’d think that after living here my whole life, I’d know where things are. But nope! The tower decided to play one of its little games, and suddenly, the library was not where it was supposed to be.

Fine, I thought. I’ll just check every door until I find it. (This is how I spend a lot of my time, by the way. Living here is like living in a puzzle box, except sometimes the puzzles bite.)

Anyway, I opened door after door—closets, empty rooms, a broom that tried to sweep my feet—until I came across it.

The room was huge, way bigger than it had any right to be. It looked like a ballroom, with tall arched windows that let in golden light and a floor made of polished stone tiles. There were banners hanging from the walls, all in deep reds and golds, and a massive chandelier glittering from the ceiling.

It was beautiful… and completely unfamiliar.

I know what you’re thinking: “Maybe it’s just a part of the tower you’ve never been to before.” But here’s the thing—it doesn’t fit. I’ve walked the perimeter of this place. I know how big it is, and there’s no way a room like this could be inside.

Naturally, I decided to investigate.

The first weird thing I noticed was that the banners didn’t have any designs on them. No sigils, no symbols, just plain fabric. Weird, right? Then I checked the windows. The view outside showed a garden. Now, we have a garden, but not one like that.

Our garden is practical—rows of herbs for Father’s tonics, patches of vegetables, and a few flowers here and there because I like the way they smell. It’s cozy and overgrown, with Blizzard constantly digging holes where she thinks I won’t notice.

But the garden outside this room? It looked like something straight out of a royal castle. The hedges were trimmed into perfect shapes—spirals, animals, and even a few that looked like people. A massive fountain stood at the center, its water sparkling like it had been enchanted to glow. Pathways of polished stone wound through the greenery, leading to more fountains and little seating areas under arched trellises covered in roses. It was elegant, extravagant, and way too fancy to belong to our tower.

If I’d had more time, I might have admired it. But instead, it just made me feel uneasy. Because if that wasn’t our garden, then whose was it?

At this point, my sensible side (Blizzard) was growling at me to leave. But my curious side (also Blizzard, when she’s hungry) told me to keep going. So, I walked to the center of the room.

That’s when I saw it: a pedestal with a book on it.

Because of course there’s a mysterious book.

The book was massive, with a black leather cover and gold-edged pages. It didn’t have a title, and when I tried to open it, it wouldn’t budge. I don’t mean it was locked—it just wouldn’t move. Like the pages were glued together by magic.

I stood there for a while, trying to figure out what to do. Should I tell Father? Should I just leave? Should I try kicking the book to see if that helps? (I didn’t do that, in case you’re wondering. Even I know when to respect magical artifacts.)

Eventually, the chandelier started flickering, and the air got colder. That was my cue to leave. I backed out of the room, shut the door, and turned around—only to find myself in the library.

Just like that, the tower decided I’d had enough excitement for one day.

But here’s the thing: when I tried to find the room again later, it was gone. I checked every door in the hallway, but all I found were boring old storage closets. It’s like the room never existed.

Now I can’t stop thinking about it. What was the book? Why wouldn’t it open? Where did the room go? And, most importantly, how many other rooms like that are hiding in the tower?

I’d ask Father, but knowing him, he’d just say something like, “Oh, that’s the Temporal Archive of Lost Knowledge. Don’t mess with it.” Which is both unhelpful and exactly the kind of thing he’d say.

So now I’m stuck wondering: Is the tower hiding secrets from me? (Of course it is.) And how long before I stumble across something even weirder?

At this rate, I’m half-expecting to find a door that leads to another dimension—or maybe a ballroom full of skeletons having a tea party. With this place, you never know.