En Route

I have stopped rubbing my palms free from of the Dust of the ancient tomes that are still so dear to me but gone. My hands they have an odor of pickle to them that is all that sustains me in this vacuous holding pattern I now find myself in. For a man to lose his Library is something very akin to the Fall of Adam and it stings the pride like the discovery of adultery. You must trust that my intentions have always been to continue on with this mission I hold myself to of keeping you against the day, of sharing with you my vertiginous descent into the Maelstrom of my soul’s shipwreck! But my own Salvation rests with recovering my precious Collection—torn from me in my absence as all things Magical tend to be when not given a Witch’s vigil. Oh, if you must—come along then. Perhaps it is best for you to learn first hand what Fool’s Errands occupy the Damned!

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