Chapter Text
In the basement there is the archives.
In the back of the archives there are the Stacks.
The Stacks are where documents go to die, in drifted piles of folders, miserable columns of unsafely stacked file cabinets, and the occasional cairn of boxed evidence. They are attended to solemnly by trolls whose names no one knows. The archivists are flitting ghosts, blood colors indistinguishable in their baggy, dark sweater vests. Their horns are by necessity small; to knock over one of the titular stacks is to die under a landslide of paper.
There's a bin of balls of string by the door, and a damn good reason for them: getting lost in the Stacks could mean fetching up against the brightly colored and cheerfully awful door of the Psychologistician.
There is a sign beside the door that has hung beside every psychologistician's door for ages untold.
It says, in bright, bloody colors, 'Come in any time!'.
It's a point of pride with Rose that not a single troll has come in without being expressly summoned.