Within the endless corridors of the Galleria of Passing Things rests a black tome that should not exist. Visitors often hear it before they see it — pages turning on their own, muffled laughter from empty aisles, or the sound of reality briefly disagreeing with itself.
Vix’ke keeps the book behind the counter.
Not locked away. Not sealed. Simply resting beside the register as though it were an ordinary inventory ledger.
That alone unsettles people more than any ward ever could.
The tome is known as Vix’ke’s Book of Absolute Nonsense, a Mythic grimoire containing spells that exist outside conventional magical structure. The spells within do not merely manipulate reality — they argue with it, ignore it, or occasionally insult it outright. Most civilizations would classify the contents as apocalyptic contraband. Vix’ke classifies them as “specialty goods.”
And yes — she sells them.
For the right price, trade, memory, favor, story fragment, emotional truth, relic, or personal sacrifice, Vix’ke may allow a visitor to purchase access to one of the spells contained within the book. She does not teach them recklessly, nor does she choose customers based on morality alone. Instead, she judges whether someone understands the weight of what they are asking for.
According to long-standing rumor within the Storywake, the most dangerous answer a customer can receive is not “no.”
It is:
“...I suppose you could handle this one.”
The Book contains Mythic phenomena such as Black Cathedral of the End Star, Author’s Refusal, Oops! All Singularities, Retcon Beam, The Sky Is Thinking Too Loud, Moonlight Was a Mistake, and Please Stop Feeding the Spell Slots — each capable of catastrophically destabilizing battlefields, timelines, destiny, magic, or causality itself.
Despite this, Vix’ke herself treats the tome with almost casual familiarity. She dusts it. Argues with it quietly. Occasionally threatens to place it on a higher shelf when it behaves poorly.
Witnesses claim the book occasionally laughs.
Others insist the laughter comes from Vix’ke.
No one is entirely certain which possibility is worse.