Today I have a special treat. A while back, one of the more enterprising of my schors uncovered dozens of volumes from the ruins of the old human capital. The rotten head still has valuable morsels left to give, even after centuries. Sadly only a few were in any decent condition.

  Nevertheless, there was one book in a special hepatizon casing that has remained almost intact.

  Cleaned and reposing upon my walnut table, my treat awaits to be spread open by my eager hands. I should have read it by now but I was...engaged in important matters.

  The book's cover is the bright red of pure silk velvet and graced by elegant scrollwork of dark grey. A bck outline is found between each raised band of the spine. The front cover itself has an exquisitely engraved silver frame featuring a vine pattern. All in all, the book is in excellent condition, and I intend to keep it so.

  Knowledge is a beautiful and delicate thing. This work needs to be handled with care.

  First Light

  The letters of the title are an iny of paldium with a tiny addition of crystal dust—making the silvery-white letters sporadically sparkle. The cover is remarkably well preserved.

  I have read many human legends and fantastical stories reting to crystals and legendary heroes. The humans often disregarded them, but in every story, there is a speck of truth. Clues that may help my cause in case my cardinal experiment never bears fruit. A new report should be coming soon.

  Every year, despite my best efforts to kill it, I continue to hope. A rational part of me understands the chances of success are close to nothingness but there is always that infinitesimal spark that refuses to die. And so, a fool, I hope.

  I do not like keeping secrets from my creations—from her especially. Kali would take things into her own hands, ending everything. I tell myself that silence and lies are for the greater good. Perhaps I am not that different from humans. For a moment my face contorts at the unsavory thought, but only slightly. They were a beautiful chaos.

  I must handle the book gently.

  Slowly, I open it.

  Transted and colted by Imperial Archivist Zenodotus Philitas, with critical commentary.

  Pages are of calfskin vellum, high quality, smooth, and fine; the skin of her thighs.

  The book's soft scent is wet earth and aged leather.

  Hours are spent reading, making notes, and slowly turning the pages with care until I find the text that truly interests me.