Yvette often goes to the library; she reads voraciously, and as long as she doesn't incur any overdue fines, it's a very cheap (and fulfilling) hobby. And there's something very soothing, about being in a library. The environment is still and quiet, and sometimes, when she wanders through the shelves of books, she can just feel separate from the rest of humanity. It can just be her, and these carefully organized books. She's not looking for anything in particular, but this isn't particularly noteworthy. Sometimes she'll have an idea of what kind of book she wants to read, but not all the time. It's okay if she takes a little while to find something, and often, she'll find something she never would have expected to like.
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees something shift, on a shelf to her left. She turns to look, curious, and spots the offending book. It's predominantly blue, with gold leafed edging on its pages, and has a shimmery cover that shifts and changes when the viewer moves. Weird. Yvette thinks she would have remembered this book, so it must be new. She'll probably end up scoffing at whatever gimmick incited the weird cover, but for now, she's just curious. As she reaches to pull it from its shelf, she notices its lack of standard labeling. Did someone just take a book and hide it on a shelf? What an odd thing to do.
Her finger brushes the book's spine for perhaps half a second, and then passes through and into, as if plunging into some kind of sticky substance. Alarmed, she tries to flinch back, but finds her hand unable to separate from the book. The book fades from shimmery blue to a black void, lit with stars of all things, and as she opens her mouth to scream everything else fades to the starry expanse, too. She thinks, inanely, of how strange it is that space is supposed to be devoid of anything, but that this feels like being plunged into a deep, warm ocean.
Something reaches and then twists at her heart, pulling it and something else in an unnatural direction. It doesn't hurt, and this feels incorrect, wrong. Like someone has casually bent her arm until it neatly snaps, but there's no rush of pain. Just the alien discomfort of her arm going in a direction that it wasn't meant to.
The void fades, and she feels gravity start asserting itself on her body, but she finds that she doesn't care, because she's far too busy screaming. She stops with a whimper when she impacts the dusty ground, and lies there for a few seconds, shivering.
