Coated in thick leather, bound together by string, and sealed with all of Jaron's most disturbing memories possible, his journal. Despite the fact he'd just started it, at least a quarter of the pages were already covered with chaos. Though, it wasn't his idea to start it.
The idea was gifted from his old tutor, who has now retired, possibly caused by Jaron. He was probably dead now either way, because Jaron hadn't seen him in approximately 2 hours. Jaron could care less.
It started as a normal tutoring session, at least— as normal as you could get with Jaron in the room. He was learning about the history of Carthya and how inefficient the old economy was, turns out, there was an old bartering system where people would pluck some of their armpit hair off of their bodies and use it to buy products. Luckily, that changed when one of Jaron's ancestors ascended to the throne
"That kinda sounds fun," Jaron said aloud.
His tutor gasped, even though sentences like this coming out of Jaron's mouth weren't unusual, it was certainly not expected of a Prince. "How could you say that? Such repulsive acts like that are utterly disgusting! Like your father's aggressive panic farts. DON'T TELL HIM I SAID THAT THOUGH" He started breathing heavily, "You should write these inappropriate thoughts in a journal and not into words that come out of your mouth"
The tutor practically threw the journal at him.
Jaron was going to write everything down.
