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Did I dream it, imagine it? the beauty of a ghost? what kind of whim is this? an illusion, I can't sleep, or am I daydreaming while awake? it's her again, gliding, invisible, transparent, yet still beautiful! beautiful, right? her silks are ephemeral, illusory, flowing in waves behind her, reigning in space arrogantly, superbly, sometimes disappearing as if into memory, only to reappear moments later in a form now visible, but elusive, to the eye, moving along the shelves of ancient books, only the flickering candlelight in the dimness from the bronze candelabrum, the sole source of light, marking her presence, casting reflections on the walls, creating a mood of soul agitation, to the ceiling, and to the narrow staircase, mysteriously arching upwards, to where the secret door hides the world from which she appears, disturbing my peace, sparking thoughts about the perfection of the spirit, searching for the lost book of books, her beauty, in its unknowable phantom nature, captivates, initially frightening, and one can never get used to it.
A medium, full shot depicts an ethereal, translucent ghost of a young blonde woman in a cream-colored, vintage, long gown floating in the air in a grand, dimly-lit, old-fashioned library with towering bookshelves filled with countless aged books, a winding staircase in the background, a small table in the foreground with a candelabra, and a patterned rug on the stone floor, with dramatic light rays streaming through an arched window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, creating a moody, mysterious atmosphere, digital art style.
