It is very dark here, and very qUiet.
There is little to occUpy my time, bUt I need only to look beyond the boUnds of this dark pocket to see how mUch worse it coUld be. I rather like it, actUally! The UniqUe natUre of this place grants me a measUre of insight into the dreambUbbles and varioUs sessions in the MediUm where my friends reside. I cannot speak with them, bUt solitUde at least beats having a roommate. Every once in awhile, I even have visitors!
QUite recently, a certain friend of mine had a very odd dream throUgh which I was able to finally meet her. It was delightfUl, bUt I admit I had some lingering qUestions aboUt her method of transit. So I…erm…constrUcted a dUplicate of her dream so I coUld snoop aroUnd. I admit it! I really shoUldn't, bUt she is sUch a good friend, and it does get ever so lonely here. I doUbt she'd mind terribly if ever she foUnd oUt. Her hoUse – well, this copy of it, I sUppose – was a wonderfUl place to explore, fUll of wonders born of her sUbconscioUs mind. Of all the magnificent keepsakes there, the joUrnal she had left Upon her hUman bed was most fascinating of all.
Based Upon the writings of her illUstrioUs mother and progenitorial daUghter, her joUrnal held the tale of Herbert and Beatrix, two yoUths who strUggled against the villainoUs wizard SlinUs Marlevort and the immUtable natUre of their story itself.
Roxy entitled it Wizardy Herbert.
This story is not aboUt her. At least, not precisely. Like all my friends, there exists another iteration of her, where Under different circUmstances she lived a very different life. ThoUgh the branching threads of Skaia's light conspired to set her on a different path, she was in many ways the same person, and the story she told was the same as well! I don't qUite know what inspired this version of Roxy to write Wizardy Herbert, bUt it was identical to the other, down to the last ink splotch.
Like my friend, this Roxy wrote Wizardy Herbert as a yoUng lady. As she grew older, I can only sUrmise she grew tired or even embarrassed with her old writings. She stowed the text on a shelf within her hoUse's vast library and forgot all aboUt it for many years. She bUsied herself investigating the mysteries of Skaia and SbUrb, and woUld soon rise to head SkaiaNet – bUt not before bearing witness to Skaia's greater pUrpose.
She had some time ago devised a techniqUe to interpret Skaia's Unfathomable will throUgh in the meteors it broUght to bear on Earth, managing at times almost to snatch enlightenment from the Umbra of the Unknowable. As she predicted, three meteors soon arrived aboUt the world in qUick sUccession, each bearing a hUman baby. Each seemed somehow special to her, bUt Upon meeting the third child she was overcome with a distinct sense of clarity, as if the girl were a vehicle throUgh which one might Understand a greater pattern at work in this world and beyond it.
Roxy also foUnd the girl adorable, and adopted her on the spot. She named her Rose.
BUt Roxy was very bUsy. As a renowned researcher, a scholar of the Unfathomable, the owner and operator of a major corporation, and the lead designer of the game that woUld bring aboUt both the creation and destrUction of the world, she had qUite a lot on her plate. She woUld oft lament her inability to spare time for her daUghter over a drink or five, bUt she rarely foUnd time for her. And so, with little else to do, Rose soon took to wandering.
HUmans seem to have qUite an interest in exploring, and living in an expansive hoUse with an oft-absent gUardian gave Rose plenty of time to do jUst that. She soon discovered its library and began to spend almost all her time there reading, thoUgh she did occasionally bUild small strUctUres oUt of books. She soon took on her mother's fondness for tales of wizards and magical adventUres, and woUld spend many nights Up late reading Until she fell asleep atop a stack of cast-off literatUre.
One day she foUnd a simple notebook. It was Unmarked bUt for two words on the cover, bUt Rose coUld tell by the distinctive pink coloUr of the ink who had written this. With trembling fingers she opened the cover, and as a storm gathered oUtside, she sat down and began to read.
Rose's immediate interest qUickly waned to tolerance, and even more qUickly to disgUst. I don't wish to insUlt my friend, bUt the fact is…Wizardy Herbert is jUst not very good. It jUst isn't. Okay, it's pretty bloody terrible! As she read, Rose grew more and more incensed. Its choppy, sparse prose was riddled with misspellings and inconsistencies, and the story lacklUstre at best. It to seemed to revel in its abysmal natUre, as if to mock Rose's interest in literatUre and the occUlt.
YoUng Rose came to the immediate conclUsion that Wizardy Herbert was nothing more than the latest move in their game of silent one-Upsmanship. Her mother's fascination with wizards and the occUlt, while clearly nothing more than a rUse meant to antagonize her, was tolerable. BUt to extend that insUlt to a mockery of Rose's love for literatUre as well? That coUld not stand. That demanded action.
That night, Rose procUred a notebook. Her favorite pUrple pen in hand, she wrote by lamplight as the storm rose oUtside, then, after the power had gone oUt, by candelight. She wrote and wrote, weaving an elaborate tale of a yoUng apprentice wizard and his plot to tUrn his fellow stUdents against their mentors. She was so engrossed she didn't notice that the door to her room was a crack open, jUst enoUgh for any rogUish obverver to watch Undetected.
Rose closed the notebook jUst minUtes before dawn, and after a long moment of contemplation, inscribed a title: Complacency of the Learned. Yawning, she crept over to the library and retUrned Wizardy Herbert to its place Upon the shelves, then went to bed, the morning sUn rising oUtside as she fell asleep.
The next morning, like most mornings, Rose's mother prepared a lavish meal for the two of them. Or more precisely, she had the small army of servants and assistants who maintained the hoUse prepare it for her as she feigned conspicUoUs ignorance of her daUghter's late-night writing. Late that morning Rose arrived shambling and yawning to the table.
"Good morning, yoUng daUghter!" said her mother.
(No. That was dreadfUl. Let me try again.)
"Hello! Here is yoUr breakfast which I have cooked!"
(Hmmmm.)
(Of coUrse, she did not say that exactly. I was not there, and I cannot provide more than an obliqUe estimation of her exact words. And since her exact words remain concealed in the shadowy recesses of caUsation, I will not attempt to qUote them.)
Roxy bid her daUghter a good morning and asked qUestions like "How are yoU?" and "Have yoU slept well?" To which Rose replied with statements like "I did!" and "Breakfast looks delicioUs; did yoU make it yoUrself?" And each lied, and each knew the other knew it, and knew the other knew she knew it.
After some minUtes of Rose eating and Roxy drinking, Rose stood and excUsed herself to the library. Before going there, she snUck back to her room and picked Up her notebook. In the library, she tUcked Wizardy Herbert inside a particUlarly grisly grimoire of eldritch lore she'd foUnd among the shelves, then pUt her own Unfinished volUme inside Wizardy Herbert. With the two notebooks hidden in the lengthy tome, she coUld write and consUlt her mother's work while maintaining the pretence of secrecy. Complacency of the Learned was to be her masterpiece, and she kept it on her person at all times, even as she slept. No one woUld ever know.
I don't know how she acqUired it, bUt Roxy took her daUghter's notebook to work the next day. I've tried to look into the matter, bUt a rogUe's ways can perplex all bUt the most insightfUl of observers! As Roxy read it, she didn't even try to contain her delight. She stood Up and annoUnced that everyone in the laboratory shoUld stop work immediately. "Why?" asked the scientists. BecaUse she woUld be throwing a party to celebrate her daUghter's newfoUnd interest. "When?" asked the scientists. Right now. And at the snap of her finger, a small army of jUmpsUit-clad workmen set Up a table fUll beverages, complete with streamers, special stardUst, and a banner proclaiming that ROSE LALONDE IS A WRITER. The calm and orderly workspace broke down into a confUsed and increasingly inebriated mob, and Roxy soon vanished amid the chaos. I don't know where she disappeared to, bUt I do know that when she had stood to speak, she'd held a notebook of her own.
When Rose snUck into the library that evening to examine Wizardy Herbert, as she'd done every day this week, she foUnd something odd. As UsUal, she sat crosslegged atop her pUrple pillow with Wizardy Herbert tUcked inside a black grimoire. She was flipping idly throUgh, page by page, when she qUite sUddenly froze. Her eyes narrowed. JUst yesterday, this final page had held an abrUpt mid-sentence end to the tale. She was sUre of it. She flipped forward to check. Yes. The tale still ended mid-sentence, bUt it was a different sentence, on a different page. A new segment had somehow appeared in her absence, and it was somehow even more terrible than the parts before.
Rose gritted her teeth. This coUld not pass Unanswered.
FUrioUs, she stood Up, leaving behind her concealing grimoire and with it all pretence. Moving to a nearby table, she wrote and wrote, and didn't stop Until she fell asleep right there, her face in her notebook with pUrple ink all over, well after the morning sUn had risen.
And so the game continUed. The mother wrote by day, the daUghter by night; the mother in a trickle, the daUghter in a torrent; the mother in jest, the daUghter in earnest. Over the coming weeks, Rose's writing improved; her mother's, in tUrn, became worse and worse, goading Rose onward. Rose soon amassed a pile of scarves on the library floor to sleep Upon, and Unbeknownst to her, her mother had done the same with a pile of plUsh cat dolls in her office at SkaiaNet. It was not Uncommon for Roxy to spend hoUrs seclUded there, so her sUbordinates did not sUspect that instead of fUlfilling her many dUties as the head of a corporation responsible for of the genesis and propagation of all existence, she was scribbling in a pink notebook amid a pile of toy cats.
BUt a prominent scientist and bUsiness leader can only hide her activities for so long. After two weeks of increasing reclUsiveness, Roxy foUnd herself Unable to avoid a meeting with one of her company's many sUbcontractors. ThoUgh her employees expected her arrival half an hoUr late, they coUld not accoUnt for her comportment. She breezed throUgh each of their qUestions with a combination of scientific acUmen and sloshy charm, bUt it was clear to her associates she had not prepared in the slightest. They cornered her afterward and confronted her aboUt it. They never discovered what she had been doing, bUt it was clear to her that she coUld only shirk responsibility in moderation. Her daUghter had won this contest, and Roxy had no reason to continUe writing. She pUt away her pink pen and retUrned Wizardy Herbert to the shelf where Rose had foUnd it.
Roxy may not have written a single page after that, bUt Rose did. She continUed her work on Complacency of the Learned Up Until jUst a few hoUrs before her entry into the game. And thoUgh Roxy never once commented on it, something aboUt her bearing in her daUghter's presence sUggested a newfoUnd pride.