She backs away, startled, when it begins to appear near her.

The food sits there, delicious and innocuous and hovering in a sort of unreal state if she doesn't keep listening to the poem.

She retreats a few stacks away and turns her attention back to the group - not the poem, but its effects and their reaction to them.

The poem seems to bring the physical things described in it to life, in front of each person listening. The listeners are quiet as it's recited, though hardly spell bound - more than a few are fidgeting, or doing something else quiet. They react like suddenly appearing food is quite normal.

Uh huh.

She peeks back at the meal that appeared by her, when the reading seems to be winding down.

It's faded, and is barely perceptible.

Okay. That... works, as far as it goes, at least if the obvious guess of how to make it finish becoming real does.

She sits and closes her eyes, broadening her awareness to the very edge of her range: are there any other villages around?

Yes! They don't seem very densely placed, and most of them are very small - only one of the three others she can sense has more than a hundred people. Still, those three seem to be in an active trade network, given people passing between them.

All right, this works, at least if she ignores the part where she's trapped in someone's pocket dimension or whatever in the first place.

They'll eat again in a few hours, presumably. She wants to find someplace to charge her phone, in the meantime, and there don't seem to be any outlets nearby - or any electrical wires, or electronics at all other than the lights, which don't seem to need them. Maybe there will be some in a different part of the place; she heads toward the cluster of villages to 'look'.

There's an area with modern books and outlets on the far side of the nearest village, though some parts of it are in use.

There's a much wider open area, like an enormous cylinder, dropping into the depths of the library, past the farthest village. She can only hear the edges of it, though it seems to have a good amount of traffic.

There's the sound of electronics, that comes in at the left edge of her range soon after the open area - it sounds like a bank of computers.

That cylinder is a little worrying, but she doesn't have to get too close to it. She heads toward the modern books, pacing herself so that she can run if she needs to.

Nobody comes too close to her while she walks. 

The cylinder continues, though by the time she reaches the modern area she can feel where it starts to curve back around, though not the opposite side. 

The modern area is fairly large, and there's some less trafficked corners. Past it is an area that sounds like it contains dirt and plants, like a small grove in the middle of the library. To the right of that is another, smaller village. Between the plant area and the cylinder is a large series of rooms with doors, apparently designed to be fairly sound-resistant (though not sound proof). A few are in use as sleeping areas or trading halls.

Whatever that cylinder is, it's huge.

She finds a relatively hidden corner to plug her battery pack in, and then backs off again to somewhere less trafficked to sit for a while and, carefully, read.

Reading quietly doesn't seem to trigger things to appear.

It's still a decent way to pass the time.

She's paying enough attention to notice when people begin to assemble for lunch, and sets her book aside to listen.

It's not a feast, this time, or at least not a fancy one for visitors, but the poetry is still lovely and evocative and heartfelt, if a bit worn from repetition. 

A hearty meal fades politely into place, conveniently arranged.

Even expecting it, she can't help staring suspiciously for a few seconds before she takes a bite.

She listens to the meal in progress in town - does everyone have the same food she does? Do they seem to think anything strange is going on?

The food: is charmingly delicious and filling.

No one seems to think anything strange is going on, and portion sizes and exact compositions vary a bit - children have appropriately smaller portions, for instance - but are mostly like hers.

Okay, good.

She eats, paying more attention to the town than to the food.

People gossip, mostly, and mostly about mundane things - who's dating whom, who got into a fight with whom... But there's a few people, and then increasingly more people, fretting about a few children who went out to explore a level or two down, and haven't returned yet. They're more overdue than usual.

Huh. She listens below - with a focus toward the hole, at a guess - for any small groups of children on their own.

No isolated, small groups of children, no - there's some single children, mostly a bit older, and some pairs, and one hollow of about twenty children apparently playing and reading, but no one who seems at all lost or tardy or dawdling about intentionally.

All right. Well, this isn't exactly what she meant to be a superhero about, but it's not so far off. She hurries up with her meal, and then heads toward the pit, listening for them as she goes.

The cylinder's far edges fit into her sensory range, at least. It seems to contain multiple variously massive spiral staircases, many of them containing some manner of shelving and frequent landings. A few are wide, gentle ramps, rather than stairs. The larger staircases in main area of the cylinder are well-trafficked, but as she approaches she hears the shape of a few scattered small staircases tucked away into the stacks, where she'll be able to avoid people.

There's many, many levels of the library both below and above. Above, things seem to be mostly convenient and regular and very well behaved, and the library's increasingly crowded as the levels ascend.

Below - starting about a mile down - things get weird.

Shelves that move, ever so slightly, when she's not actively paying attention to them. A lake with no apparent bottom despite having another floor right under it, and the ceiling between them not being unusually thick. An area of humming crystals. Far, far fewer people, especially farther down.  

And, about a mile and a half down, and a mile from the cylinder itself, there's a group of four children, apparently about age ten. One of them's sniffling. Two of them are arguing about taking the wrong turn a bit back. One's dragging her feet, shoulders hunched.

(Farther, near the very, very bottom of her range, there's a whisper like thousands of pages rustling.)

The cylinder continues up about two miles, though a few stair cases go past that and there's library in her entire range, and down past where she can hear.

 She picks a path that keeps her away from people, and heads down.