Vyn Aura

The first time I found the room, I was sleepwalking. My bare feet knew the path before my mind caught up, carrying me through corridors that shouldn't exist in my small apartment building.

It appeared between the second and third floors. A door where no door should be, marked only by the faintest outline of light seeping through its edges. The handle was cold, impossibly cold, like grasping winter itself.

Inside, the room defied dimensions. Books lined walls that stretched higher than the building itself, their spines written in languages that hurt to perceive. A single candle burned on a desk that hadn't been there moments before, casting shadows that moved independently of their sources.

I woke up in my bed at 3:08 AM, with the taste of dust and forgotten memories on my tongue. The room was gone, but I could still smell the candle wax and hear the whisper of pages turning somewhere just beyond hearing.

They say it's been appearing for decades. Different buildings, different cities, always at 3:07 AM. Always to those who've lost something they can never name. Always leaving them changed.