After that satisfying meal, I return to the foyer to start crafting the leggings. I lay out the bones and leather together, trying to see if the pattern with the arrangement of bones between the layers continues.
Hours pass, as I try to arrange the bones in what feels like my intuition. I move my arm within the leather, when suddenly I feel the arrangement pull itself, and my arm with it, towards the center of the crafting bench. The seams form, putting pressure on my arm, pulling it in tighter. I struggle quickly to pull my arm out with great strength, and manage to tug it out, but rip the leather in the process. The rip is folded away as the bone-enforced leggings finish taking shape.
My arm feels numb for a moment as blood begins to pump through it again. That piece of armor put up a nasty fight! I will have to be more careful while crafting the boots. I guess crafting something new comes with its own danger: you never know when the crafting bench will start to pull on it.
Even so, I'm still frightened and amazed at what just happened. In all my years of crafting, I've successfully completed many crafting recipes I wasn't familiar with, even the skull cap just a half an hour ago, but I've never had to quickly move my hand out of the way like that. The crafting bench acts slowly, circumventing human touch, not rapidly and impatiently like it just did. I wonder if the book might be responsible?
I need to stop being so paranoid. I'm obviously not quite myself today. All the strange events that have happened have taken a toll on me. They are all happening because of this strange presence, the book, but it's not so much the book itself that is making me feel this way. I just don't quite understand how to react to everything that has happened.
I feel a sense of relief and satisfaction, as if some sort of understanding has taken place. It's definitely the book that feels that way, not me.
I lift up the leggings from the crafting bench, noting it's structure. The bones within the fabric are aligned parallel to its length, forming a solid plate near the kneecap. Again, the shape of the bones bears an uncanny resemblance to a Skeleton.
Another thought crosses my mind, that I must have felt for a split second before, but didn't quite develop: What's the point of all this? I know I'm crafting some supposedly good armor, but is it really worth it to do what the book wants me to do? What are the book's intentions? I don't care if the book says the armor is as strong as steel. It looks like a Skeleton. Perfectly suitable armor doesn't make you look like a monster when you wear it. The book doesn't get to dictate what I wear. I'm done with this stupid game.
I un-strap the bone chest plate from my back. The book projects a clear sense of surprise, frustration, and anger. I ignore it. I put my old leather helmet and chest plate back on, and lift up the bone armor from the table. I walk to the closet under the stairwell, open it, and toss the armor into the darkness. I hesitate for a moment, and then reach into my back pocket, take the book out, and throw it into the darkness as well. I shut the door.
"Why are you afraid of me?"
It's a voice inside my head. A female voice, deep and sad, pleading. I know it's the book, but I don't care anymore.
All I see is the wood of the door in front of me, and the wall under the stairwell. I feel a sense of relief, as if a huge burden has been lifted from my shoulders. I look outside the windows of the foyer, and the town is already covered in the darkness of the night. I realize how exhausted I am, from hunting skeletons early in the morning to searching for crafting recipes all day. I should go to sleep. I head upstairs, into my bedroom, and collapse onto the bed.
