Cirlot’s Dictionary of Symbols is a black tome that breathes like a wounded animal. You don’t flip pages—you stalk corridors of myth and the walls whisper at you.

• Labyrinth — a stone lung, pulling you in deeper with every turn. You don’t find the center, it finds you.

• Dragon — the first nightmare carved on a cave wall. Smoke, hunger, treasure, death. All kings keep one chained in their basement, or they lie about killing it.

• Tower — the pride of men piled brick on brick until the lightning splits it. It’s where you go to be alone with your madness.

• Serpent — two fangs, two destinies: poison or medicine. The coil that tightens when you ignore it.

• Mirror — silver surface, black mouth. Look long enough and it spits your soul back in pieces.

• Egg — fragile shell, infinite weight. Crack it gently and gods are born. Drop it and only silence comes out.

• Sword — the steel law of division. Friend from enemy, life from death, truth from illusion. A good sword never sleeps.

• Wheel — the grinding sound of eternity. Every spoke another chance, every turn another mistake.

Cirlot gathered these things like a scavenger in a battlefield, dragging back myths, alchemical glyphs, folk whispers, occult diagrams. He pinned them down alphabetically, but they still twitch under the glass

-Great - Book is well kept and displays minimal signs of age or wear.

-All conditions are subjectively evaluated based upon age.