*the book is gone from the puddle*
*a distracted figure can be heard scratching away, deep into the night, quill on fresh parchment, an excess of candles pulled close to allow corrupted eyes to decipher the blotted and ripped shreds that have been cleanly cut from the binding*
A well-worn journal, many stains and cuts on the binding, crisp new pages.
Re: A near-pristine journal, roughly tanned leather, one crease on the spine
Grisbault, Twice-Made.
The p, s, l, and t are silent, the screams are not.
The p, s, l, and t are silent, the screams are not.
Re: A well-worn journal, many stains and cuts on the binding, crisp new pages.
"If I could form the material that forms these bars into armour, or perhaps a blade it would be ..."
*a pause, listening to silence*
"Hmmm. Where is she? Not around much any more. Trickery? Or time?"
*the sound of talons quietly, smoothly, firmly being sharpened*
"Back to flame is it? We like that, don't we? Warm, toasty. He should have stayed with the diseases."
*a pause, listening to silence*
"Hmmm. Where is she? Not around much any more. Trickery? Or time?"
*the sound of talons quietly, smoothly, firmly being sharpened*
"Back to flame is it? We like that, don't we? Warm, toasty. He should have stayed with the diseases."
Grisbault, Twice-Made.
The p, s, l, and t are silent, the screams are not.
The p, s, l, and t are silent, the screams are not.