You find yourself walking down a long hallway, at the end of which sits a desk and two doors. You don't see anyone at the desk, but you are compelled to go there anyway. When you reach the desk you spot a bell sitting beside a stack of papers. Hesitantly you ring it and way for someone to appear.

The door to the left of the desk opens up, and a middle-aged woman with tangled red-brown hair comes out carrying an empty bucket. She sees you and frowns,"I'll be just a minute, hold on." She steps behind the desk and puts the bucket down,"What're you here for?"

"Here for?" you stare at her, confused. You weren't particularily sure where 'here' was, let alone why you were there.

The woman rolls her eyes and ducks behind the desk. You can hear the plasticy sound of gritting teeth, even from the distance between you. She reappears, and in her hand is a thick wad of paper, apparently bound together by some frail twine. It looked ancient. "This is the Memenangerie,"she didn't sound to enthusiastic about the name,"Home to Memoru's adopted critters. I am assuming you'd like a look around?"

By the icy look she gives you, you doubt saying 'no' would be wise. Hesistantly you nod your head.

"Good,"she slams the paper down on the desk. A cloud of grey dust poofs into the air. "Here's the records. Feel free to use them, if you'd like." She takes a step back and motions towards the door on the left,"They're outside of that." She dissapears beneath the desk again, and when she comse up she's holding a little silver bracelet. In it are many, tiny, red gems, clouded with swirls of black. "If you need any help, just tap this twice. Memoru, Alec, the other caretaker, or myself will come to help you out."

She paused, brow furrowed,"Although I'm quite sure one of us will be along to guide you through the areas."

You take the bracelete and slip it over your wrist with a polite nod to the woman. You turn and head towards the door, hair bristling on the back of your neck as the woman's sharp eyes follow you. You feel more than a little bit relieved when you slip out the door.

The first thing that greets you is a large, tattered map, tacked upon a wooden sign. Several labels can easily be viewed, in bold, curliature script. It seems as ancient as the records the woman had produced for you.