The library itself was unbelievably vast, possessing of a great cylindrical chamber a hundred metres tall, segmented into layers of balconies connected by spiralling oak staircases embroidered with crimson. Each floor, Sofie found, was dedicated to a particular subject. The ground floor held bookcases stocked with great accounts of the history of the Empire and its wars with those around it, of great heroes and legends and tales. This was not by chance; the sisterhood had strong ties with this place before the cataclysm, and this arrangement was such that the ignorant and poor, those who could not explore this library in its fullest capacity and whose minds were most vulnerable, could only explore knowledge that was deemed safe.
As one ascended to each level in turn, the information on offer became more tabboo, more corrupting and more esoteric all the same; the books turned from detailing the Empire in itself to its allies in Bretonnia and the Dwarfs, then to the enigmatic Elves of Athel Loren and finally to all manners of evil from magic to greenskins and ogres.
The top level, however, was the only one locked away. It was hidden by a trapdoor opening a passageway to the very top of the library. In it, Sofie suspected, lay the most damnable of texts, scriptures and imagery - of the corrupting Chaos and Undead - which it was feared could taint weak minds with its presence were it freely available. Here was what the Vampire was looking for; the knowledge of her new self and her new abilities and nature. She wanted to do what nobody loyal to Sigmar ever could do, she figured; understand. A grin parted her lips as she relished in her new freedom, seeing the trapdoor in person. It had been reinforced with criss-crossing iron chains. They shone as if fresh from the smith, but were themselves tainted by what they locked away; already a layer of rust had begun to form prematurely, and it seemed to follow Sofie's touch along the chain like a mass of locusts. It was as if something was watching her. She tore the chain free with a whine.
Inside, the air was cold and menacing. A single table dominated the room, on which a dull beige tablecloth sat, criss-crossed with crimson like running blood. Several candles were arranged in two staggered lines that crossed at an odd 'X' shape. In the centre of this X was a large book, opened onto a double-page as if it had been prepared for her. She sat down and swept away the dust with a thumb. A charming figure stared back at her, in a handsome black suit with shiny buttons. His hand clutched a cane pointed out at the reader and his mouth bore a dashing smile. He looked positively heroic - almost a man from some Bretonnian folk-story - save for the shimmering fangs which twinkled in his jaw. He was captioned as Merovech, Cursed Duke of Mousillon - Sigmar curse him a thousand times!
Soon enough Sofie was swept up in the intrigues of the book. It was a thrill of discovery which clutched her tightly and would not let go. All manner of foul creatures were described in this text - which she later found to be, to her assumption, some form of guide for Witch Hunters and common Huntsmen alike - and it was engrossing. Ghouls and foul hounds, zombies and wights were all described here. As the danger of each creature was revealed, she felt a rush of pleasure as she imagined that all of these could be her thralls. Was this what every Vampire felt? The rush of unkempt ambition nearly overwhelmed her, and she almost tore herself free of the book to rest when it again captivated her.
The words were changing.
She had been on a page concerning the horrors of the crypts - as they were known - and she recognised it as the creature which had so bested her in Ravenstock's service. But the figure on the page; a collossal brute dripping drool at the mouth and grisly remains from it's long fingers, had begun to morph. It began to grow thin, it's muscle falling away into the page and out of sight before Sofie's very eyes. It's teeth grew human, it's drooling maw closing into pursed red lips. It's eyes, savaged and blackened with undeath, began to twinkle brown and fall beneath a blue-white haze. This same haze took hold of the skin, which grew transparent like a ghost's.
Or a Banshee's. The Vampire growled and nearly tore the book in two - being manipulated by a spirit was beneath her - when the text itself began to change form. It became a simple phrase, repeating over and over like the chants of a mad cultist, but in itself it was harmless: 'Go to the Sewers'.
It had occured to her how this entire room had the air of having been prepared in advance. The room was well-lit by candles, the two shelves which bracketed the table were well-ordered and free of any dirt or dust. This was no doubt the haunt's doing, and she would have answers one way or the other; so she would comply.
Climbinb down the stairway, she found that again she seemed to be as a guest for this ghost, this banshee; the stairwell down into the cellar - and therefore the sewers - had its walls lined with torches which burned a green-blue flame, unlike anything the Imperials would use. It was when Sofie appeared into the cellar itself, long since abandoned and dominated by cobwebs and broken furniture, that she found her answer. Two eyes, like those which took the place of the horror's, hovered in the darkness and looked into her's. They felt eerily familiar, which she would have put down to madness or chance until a voice triggered her memories.
"It is you again." A ghostly woman called with cheerfulness, "Your Sister-Superior did heed me afterall. Come, let us leave this wretched cellar, I am here with a warning." The owner of the eyes appeared in full, the same Banshee who she had thought dead for weeks now floated ahead of her. Sofie grinned and tried to hug the girl, falling through her and to the floor in her rush.
The banshee turned, its face cold and dead, but the echoing laugh which filled the chamber put the Vampire at ease. "Yes, hello - it is I. Now come on, Sister Sofie, Vampire of Sylvania. There really is no time to lose."