Preface to the Twelfth Edition.

Tucked away in a dark corner of the universe, surrounded by nothing but absolute blackness, is a desk crafted of ancient wood. It is not any mere antique; no—a desk weighed down with great piles of paper and parchment, with books of all ages and bindings interwoven. It is a collection of many terrible treasures, most forgotten to the eyes and imaginations of the rest of the world’s population, known only to a tiny handful of ambitious and foolish minds. At it sits a lone scholar, her spectacles thick and heavy, her figure buried in ancient robes that doubtlessly predate the desk at which she sits.

“Don’t touch anything!” squeaks she, stuffing a bundle of documents into your hands, “e-except these papers. I m-must apologise; I have simply discovered all too many times that important references tend to go missing in the middle of projects when I allow for such liberties to be taken, and it is simply much too inconveneint for my research.” She averts her gaze almost at once, evidently not wanting to linger at any length on social matters. “However,” she mutters, “with any luck you shall find this meager portion to your tastes and want more of it. Or perhaps not. It is rather difficult to tell what people want—the dull, closed-minded things.”

Within ten seconds, her attention has gotten lost in the books before her again. Feeling only a little hurt—but mostly like you have inadvertently stumbled in on someone who never expected to get visitors, ever—you look through the papers she has handed you.

Catherine Chaton/Epistesophia.

Table of Contents.