Can someone mark this english creative writing :D

The image was a very large library. Pls let me know any improvements and stuff as well thankksss.
Books of all shades stretched until the end of this tranquil heaven. Uniform chandeliers strung down, lighting up the tables like spotlights. Every detail of every bookshelf and corner was under the spotlight; the bronze plated rings and squares had golden dots which were highlighted by the gleam. Within the bronze casing was a painting. A breathtaking painting. The canvas included a spring day sky with clouds bubbling about like marshmallows and a hint of pink like the scorching sun was soon to set. Directly at the end of the path was a bookcase : dusty, rotten, out of place.
Simply reaching to open this bookcase caused my arm to tremble, however after an eerie creek it was revealed. A bleak book was propped up right in the centre of the bookcase with no other books surrounding it ; staring into my soul with its twisted writing. The texture of the book felt coarse like a meteorite with its miniscule grips feeling as if it was clawing its way into my hand, forcing me to read this book. The walk from the bookcase back to my usual seat was a shameful one, the spotlights felt heavier as if all the people and all the books were watching. I strolled through the proud red aisle with this volcanic book until I reached my desk, a respectable mahogany table with small jade lamps which had curved fragments to really illuminate the area. Somehow this book had lured me to the bookcase and back, and had been prepared to even read it. Whatever mystical force this was, it wasn’t about to stop even after I had placed the book down.
Not even the radiant chandeliers had dared to dazzle onto this book.
The grubby cover of the book was already wearing away and thinning, dropping its dust onto the desk, simply just from my touch. This was an ancient relic, and a terrifying one. My fingers were slightly squirming when I pulled back the book ; my eyes were half shut out of a mixture between fear and excitement. The very first page was an empty one however the pages were so worn that they were almost transparent due to the writing being so heavily scribbled into the paper, meaning I could see its indents. This demonic style of handwriting sent impulses of danger to my head, as if I was getting into something that my fear couldn’t afford to be entering. Without even reading the contents of the page I slammed it to a close and a feeling of pride washed over me as if I had just saved this whole library.
After skipping delightfully along the red path, dashing past the smooth tables and dancing though the chandeliers disco lights with such freedom that the book did not weigh me down, I eventually reached the bookshelf again. Its webs and creaks and glass shards felt like a mystery that I didn't need to solve, that I wasn't constrained too. And so I opened the bookcase to return the book, and my body ended up frozen in the cold sight my eyes saw.
A grubby, bleak book, the same texture of a meteorite was propped up against the case in the very middle, staring directly into my soul.