I had a dream.
I was bound by many chains, in a dark room of an unbefitting size. My clothes were in tatters. Many mice, hundreds, nay, thousands of them, perused around me, gaping, chittering, looking at my bound form. I could barely move. The mice brought me food and drink, thrice a day, and ate with disgusted fervor. I spent my days swaying from side to side. Leg to leg. Right to left. Endless loop of mindless entertainment.
One mouse stood out. Watching. It started to sway. Side to side. Right to left. In rythm. I stopped. It stopped. We began again. Slow, swaying, from leg to leg, together we shared this moment of strange connection. I felt it understood.
I woke up.
Art of London
Letters from the Surface: Part X
A Particularly Ruthless Spy
By Sir Wensleydale of Hardwick
Another letter, among the junk. This one was addressed to “the Professor of Spycraft”. I was shocked. I am not a high-ranking piece in any of the Game’s machinations, nor do I consider myself a careful observer. Take my work on the Correspondence.
The letter exploded like a Molotov Cocktail. It read,
“I have heard of your work. I am a fairly new piece to the Game, so I figured I might ask you: what is the purpose of it? Also, might you train me in the art of espionage?”
I shuddered. I barely knew that myself. As for my skill… One might scoff at me for attempting to teach that.
I receded into my study. I continued to read. I began to pen a reply, but that haunting image did what it does. Seven is the number in many things. Even scars, memories, and stains.
After a night of increasingly haunted sleep, I awoke, somehow refreshed. But I was locked in from the outside.
Watchful is increasing…
Shadowy is increasing…
Dangerous is increasing…
Persuasive is increasing…
Nightmares is increasing…
Suspicion is increasing…
Melancholy is increasing…
Subtle is increasing…
A twist in your tale! You are now At war with a single person!
An occurrence! Your “Letters from the Surface” quality is now 10-Known to the Shadows!
You now have 1*Surface Letter
You’ve gained 1*Whispered Hint
You have moved to a new area: your study
News of Art, Art of News
The (Un)Forgotten Artist’s Final(?) Work Comes To Light
The publishing of this work is controversial. Its content even moreso. Was it a truly bold move, a stroke of genius so viscerally real that we are afraid to even consider the possibility of a genuine motive? Or was it a mad rambling of a mad man, bent on destroying even the last semblance of peace with this epos?
Either way, it thoroughly shook the readers to their core. There was blood. There were riots. There was denial, and there were tears. It is a handful to swallow, dear readers. Like red meat sitting in your stomach for days on end, so painful to digest. Like the sweetest candy, rotting your teeth simply by its presence, too late does the pain come, too late do you realize the destruction you have brought upon yourself by opening this can.
We can only wonder at the meaning of this. We can only speculate on whether this was the last stroke, or only the first of many more to come. There is no telling whether the chaos will rail on, order will be established, or the fire die down, uneventfully.
What is left is only to wait and see.
Ask Mother Goose
Dear Mother Goose,
Is it all for naught? Is this the end?
It is our hope that it is not.