There is a little island in the Mediterranean Sea that does not show up on any guide. It can't be seen from some other island, nor can some other land be seen from it. On this island is a beacon, decaying from age and ocean water, that is never lit. There is nothing inside it, put something aside for a spiraling staircase that prompts the best, and an old, dusty cabinet.
The case is loaded with plain books, bound in old cowhide, put something aside for a solitary space. On the off chance that you expel a book from the rack, it will toss itself open in your grasp, and the words engraved in it will begin shouting to the air. You should wrestle the book shut and push it back on the rack, or the eternal shrewdness contained inside its pages will break free, and you will be compelled to have its spot, with pages, ink and restricting made from your own fragile living creature and blood.
Be that as it may, on the off chance that you convey the right book to the island, and place it in the vacant space, the beacon will light. For whatever length of time that it is lit, the world will appreciate an unending heaven, for all the insidiousness on the planet will be contained in the beacon. And keeping in mind that it is lit, nothing can go in or out.
The main issue; you will be caught for time everlasting with all the shrewdness at any point known or imagined, by man or god. What's more, the best way to escape is to soak the light.
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