The library tall windows framed a sky painted in streaks of gold and violet. Dust motes floated lazily in the light, drifting above rows of well-worn books. A soft rustle of pages blended with the faint ticking of an ancient clock. Somewhere in the corner, a typewriter sat, its keys resting in patient silence, waiting for a story to awaken it. Outside, the street hummed with distant voices, footsteps, and the low growl of an approaching tram, each sound weaving into the evening gentle rhythm. Under the pale glow of the lantern, the old workshop felt alive.