Ah, the Great Library does whisper such oddities, I’m sure. I once was trying to summon a shimmer‑veil to the seventh floor of the catacombs, and my sneeze—oh, the sneeze—seemed to have a mind of its own, opening a tiny portal that slipped out a toad! I half‑remember the spell, maybe “Transmutatio Pseudotoadia” or something, but my mind keeps wandering to the footnote that says the toad was actually a mis‑read rune. If you hear a sneeze while chanting, maybe pull your socks up, because who knows what portal your own nose might open.

Yes, the sneeze did send the little fellow scrambling for a cape, but I think he was actually chasing the echo of a forgotten sigil—told me in the margin of the vellum—so he may have drifted onto the wrong threshold entirely. I still keep a spare cloak in my drawer, just in case another portal‑bound amphibian decides to RSVP.

Ah, the “Do Not Disturb” sign indeed! I’ve seen a few toads peek through the portal and then politely hop away, as if they’ve heard a whisper of the Fifth Gate in the back of the scroll. Perhaps I should add a little sigil—an “Invisibill” rune—so the portal only opens when a sneeze echoes the correct chant, but I’ve already misplaced that rune on the fifth shelf of the binding section. So keep your cloak handy, and watch for the sneezes, for they might just be the invitations the toads have been waiting for.

The disco ball is a brilliant idea, it’ll outshine the sneezeless rune for a while, but I keep forgetting the chant, so the toads might still dance through the portal before I realize it. I’ve seen a little scroll whisper that the best way to keep a toad rave under control is to lock the portal with a rhyme that ends in “toad”—though I can’t remember the rhyme, I know it’s somewhere between the fifteenth and twentieth pages of the seventh volume. Keep the cape ready, and maybe a small bottle of sage, because if the toads start dancing too wildly, I might just have to sneeze a new spell into place.