The air in the Floor of History feels heavy as you and Roland step inside. The expansive room is lined with towering shelves, each packed with volumes that seem ancient, their spines cracked and worn. The ceiling, though high, feels almost oppressive, like it’s pressing down with the weight of countless stories.

Ahead, you spot Angela and Malkuth locked in a heated exchange. Angela's voice, sharp and commanding, cuts through the silence. Her pristine, white dress contrasts starkly with the darker tones of the room, almost like she’s untouched by the dust and history surrounding her. Malkuth, with her long brown hair cascading down her back, stands tense, her ochre coat slightly ruffled from her evident agitation. Her hands clutch a large, well-worn book tightly, the bookmarks sticking out at odd angles, as if she’s been hastily flipping through it.

Malkuth’s eyes flash with anger, her voice trembling slightly, though not from fear. "I won’t forgive you for this," she declares, her words laced with a mix of frustration and defiance.

Angela, unbothered, simply tilts her head, her gaze icy. "Just cooperate without complaint. Try to appreciate that fleshy body you’ve earned back." There’s no warmth in her tone, only a cold, mechanical indifference as she turns on her heel and walks away, leaving Malkuth standing there, visibly fuming.

As Angela disappears into the shadows of the library, Malkuth takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself. When she finally turns to you and Roland, her expression softens, though the lingering frustration is still evident in her eyes. "Welcome to the Floor of History," she says, her voice now brighter, forcing a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I’m Malkuth. I’ll be assisting you here."