Manish lifts the top book from the escritoire, its cover flaky with age. He opens it gently. "Uh, so this is about the Vastness."
"No. Way." Darcy says. She peers over Manish's shoulder. "Dr. Cohen buys that conspiracy theory?"
You join the other two to look at the book. It's a journal, and reads like warmed-over fiction from the pulp era, all breathless prose about intelligences vast and unknowable.
"We're not finding anything useful here," you say. "C'mon, let's hoof it."
"No, wait, this is perfect!" Darcy says. "We borrow some of this writer dude's bullshit for your ceremony. It'll save us loads of time. Anything in there about him trying to talk to the Vastness?"
Manish obediently flips forward in the book. "Not sure. It's not the most coherent story I've ever—" He stops, eyes fixed on the page.
The pattern in the book sinks claws into your mind. It roils like a storm cloud. Darkness spreads across your vision.