The hall was thick with smoke and the scent of roasted pig.

Candlelight flickered.

It danced on the walls.

It danced on the faces of the guests.

They smiled.

They drank.

They ignored the silence in the center.

Aldous stood by the fireplace.

He held a glass of sherry.

The liquid was amber.

It trembled in his hand.

He was a scholar.

Or so he believed.

He had spent forty years in the library.

He had studied the old texts.

He had studied the faded marks.

He thought he understood them.

He was wrong.

The guests were loud.

They laughed at his expense.

They called him eccentric.

They called him a fool.

He did not care.

He looked at his hands.

They were dry.

They were cracked.

Like old parchment.

Like the pages he loved.

He had prepared a speech.

It was long.

It was full of footnotes.

He would not give it.

He would not speak.

He would listen.

He would watch.

The host, a man named Sterling, raised his glass.

"To knowledge," he said.

"To truth."

The room echoed.

Aldous felt a pang.

It was sharp.

It was cold.

It sat in his chest.

He looked around.

The faces were blurred.

They were masks.

They were lies.

He remembered the book.

The one he had found.

It was small.

It was bound in leather.

The leather was black.

It was soft.

It felt like skin.

He had found it in the attic.

It was dusty.

It was forgotten.

He had opened it.

The pages were thin.

The ink was red.

It was not ink.

It was blood.

No.

It was not blood.

It was rust.

It was time.

He had read the first page.

The words were simple.

They were direct.

They were a curse.

They were a promise.

They were a loop.

He had tried to stop reading.

He could not.

The words pulled him.

Like a hook.

Like a chain.

He had read for hours.

He had read for days.

He had forgotten to eat.

He had forgotten to sleep.

He had forgotten his name.

He had become the book.

The book had become him.

He looked at his hands again.

They were changing.

The skin was darkening.

It was turning to paper.

The veins were turning to ink.

He felt the words moving.

They were under his skin.

They were in his bones.

They were in his blood.

He felt a laugh.

It was not his.

It was the book’s.

It was dry.

It was brittle.

It was cruel.

He looked at Sterling.

Sterling was watching him.

His eyes were wide.

His eyes were wet.

He was afraid.

He was not afraid of the book.

He was afraid of Aldous.

Aldous smiled.

It was a thin smile.

It was a paper smile.

It did not reach his eyes.

His eyes were empty.

They were dark.

They were deep.

They were wells.

He walked toward the center.

The guests parted.

They did not speak.

They did not breathe.

They watched him.

He walked to the table.

The table was long.

It was covered in white cloth.

The cloth was stained.

With wine.

With blood.

With time.

He placed his glass on the table.

It made a sound.

A click.

A snap.

It was the sound of a bone breaking.

It was the sound of a page turning.

He looked at the crowd.

They were still.

They were statues.

They were frozen.

In time.

In fear.

In awe.

He opened his mouth.

No sound came out.

Only dust.

Only ash.

Only silence.

He closed his mouth.

He looked at his hands.

They were gone.

In their place were pages.

White pages.

Blank pages.

He flexed his fingers.

They rustled.

It was the sound of wind.

In a dry field.

In a dead forest.

In a forgotten room.

He raised his hands.

The pages fluttered.

They rose.

They floated.

They hovered in the air.

The guests gasped.

They scrambled back.

They knocked over chairs.

They spilled wine.

They broke plates.

The room was chaos.

The room was madness.

The room was hell.

Aldous did not move.

He stood still.

He was calm.

He was at peace.

He felt the words.

They were returning.

They were flowing back.

From the air.

From the walls.

From the ground.

From the sky.

They were coming home.

To him.

To the book.

To the loop.

He felt a warmth.

It was strange.

It was comforting.

It was familiar.

It was the warmth of the fire.

It was the warmth of the sun.

It was the warmth of life.

It was the warmth of death.

He looked at the pages.

They were filling.

With text.

With history.

With memory.

With pain.

With joy.

With love.

With hate.

With fear.

With hope.

He was writing.

He was reading.

He was being read.

He was the author.

He was the character.

He was the reader.

He was the book.

The book was him.

The loop was closed.

The circle was complete.

The wheel turned.

The wheel always turns.

He felt a pull.

It was strong.

It was gentle.

It was inevitable.

He was being drawn.

Down.

In.

Away.

From the light.

From the noise.

From the people.

From the world.

He was going to the library.

The old library.

The dark library.

The silent library.

He was going to the attic.

The dusty attic.

The forgotten attic.

He was going to the box.

The small box.

The black box.

He was going to the book.

The bound book.

The leather book.

He was going to the page.

The first page.

The red page.

The blood page.

The rust page.

The time page.

He was going to the start.

He was going to the end.

They were the same.

They were always the same.

He closed his eyes.

He saw the words.

They were bright.

They were clear.

They were beautiful.

They were terrible.

They were true.

He opened his eyes.

The room was gone.

The guests were gone.

The fire was gone.

The smoke was gone.

The silence was gone.

There was only the dark.

There was only the dust.

There was only the book.

He was in the book.

He was on the page.

He was in the ink.

He was in the paper.

He was in the binding.

He was in the cover.

He was in the spine.

He was in the soul.

He was in the mind.

He was in the heart.

He was in the blood.

He was in the bone.

He was in the spirit.

He was in the ghost.

He was in the memory.

He was in the dream.

He was in the nightmare.

He was in the waking.

He was in the sleeping.

He was in the living.

He was in the dying.

He was in the returning.

He was in the fading.

He was in the root.

The faded root.

The deep root.

The dark root.

The strong root.

The weak root.

The old root.

The new root.

The same root.

The different root.

The only root.

The no root.

The root was him.

He was the root.

The root was the book.

The book was the root.

The root was the loop.

The loop was the root.

The root was the truth.

The truth was the root.

The root was the lie.

The lie was the root.

The root was the word.

The word was the root.

The word was the sound.

The sound was the word.

The word was the silence.

The silence was the word.

The word was the nothing.

The nothing was the word.

The word was the everything.

The everything was the word.

The word was the start.

The start was the word.

The word was the end.

The end was the word.

The word was the middle.

The middle was the word.

The word was the circle.

The circle was the word.

The word was the square.

The square was the word.

The word was the triangle.

The triangle was the word.

The word was the line.

The line was the word.

The word was the point.

The point was the word.

The word was the dot.

The dot was the word.

The word was the mark.

The mark was the word.

The mark was the sign.

The sign was the mark.

The sign was the symbol.

The symbol was the sign.

The symbol was the meaning.

The meaning was the symbol.

The meaning was the truth.

The truth was the meaning.

The meaning was the lie.

The lie was the meaning.

The meaning was the fiction.

The fiction was the meaning.

The fiction was the reality.

The reality was the fiction.

The fiction was the dream.

The dream was the fiction.

The dream was the nightmare.

The nightmare was the dream.

The nightmare was the waking.

The waking was the nightmare.

The waking was the sleeping.

The sleeping was the waking.

The sleeping was the dying.

The dying was the sleeping.

The dying was the living.

The living was the dying.

The living was the returning.

The returning was the living.

The returning was the fading.

The fading was the returning.

The fading was the root.

The root was the fading.

The fading was the end.

The end was the fading.

The fading was the start.

The start was the fading.

The fading was the nothing.

The nothing was the fading.

The nothing was the everything.

The everything was the nothing.

The nothing was the silence.

The silence was the nothing.

The silence was the sound.

The sound was the silence.

The sound was the word.

The word was the sound.

The word was the mark.

The mark was the word.

The mark was the sign.

The sign was the mark.

The sign was the symbol.

The symbol was the sign.

The symbol was the meaning.

The meaning was the symbol.

The meaning was the truth.

The truth was the meaning.

The meaning was the lie.

The lie was the meaning.

The meaning was the fiction.

The fiction was the meaning.

The fiction was the reality.

The reality was the fiction.

The fiction was the dream.

The dream was the fiction.

The dream was the nightmare.

The nightmare was the dream.

The nightmare was the waking.

The waking was the nightmare.

The waking was the sleeping.

The sleeping was the waking.

The sleeping was the dying.

The dying was the sleeping.

The dying was the living.

The living was the dying.

The living was the returning.

The returning was the living.

The returning was the fading.

The fading was the returning.

The fading was the root.

The root was the fading.

The fading was the end.

The end was the fading.

The fading was the start.

The start was the fading.

The fading was the nothing.

The nothing was the fading.

The nothing was the everything.

The everything was the nothing.

The nothing was the silence.

The silence was the nothing.

The silence was the sound.

The sound was the silence.

The sound was the word.

The word was the sound.

The word was the mark.

The mark was the word.

The mark was the sign.

The sign was the mark.

The sign was the symbol.

The symbol was the sign.

The symbol was the meaning.

The meaning was the symbol.

The meaning was the truth.

The truth was the meaning.

The meaning was the lie.

The lie was the meaning.

The meaning was the fiction.

The fiction was the meaning.

The fiction was the reality.

The reality was the fiction.

The fiction was the dream.

The dream was the fiction.

The dream was the nightmare.

The nightmare was the dream.

The nightmare was the waking.

The waking was the nightmare.

The waking was the sleeping.

The sleeping was the waking.

The sleeping was the dying.

The dying was the sleeping.

The dying was the living.

The living was the dying.

The living was the returning.

The returning was the living.

The returning was the fading.

The fading was the returning.

The fading was the root.

The root was the fading.

The fading was the end.

The end was the fading.

The fading was the start.

The start was the fading.

The fading was the nothing.

The nothing was the fading.

The nothing was the everything.

The everything was the nothing.

The nothing was the silence.

The silence was the nothing.

The silence was the sound.

The sound was the silence.

The sound was the word.

The word was the sound.

The word was the mark.

The mark was the word.

The mark was the sign.

The sign was the mark.

The sign was the symbol.

The symbol was the sign.

The symbol was the meaning.

The meaning was the symbol.

The meaning was the truth.

The truth was the meaning.

The meaning was the lie.

The lie was the meaning.

The meaning was the fiction.

The fiction was the meaning.

The fiction was the reality.

The reality was the fiction.

The fiction was the dream.

The dream was the fiction.

The dream was the nightmare.

The nightmare was the dream.

The nightmare was the waking.

The waking was the nightmare.

The waking was the sleeping.

The sleeping was the waking.

The sleeping was the dying.

The dying was the sleeping.

The dying was the living.

The living was the dying.

The living was the returning.

The returning was the living.

The returning was the fading.

The fading was the returning.

The fading was the root.

The root was the fading.

The fading was the end.

The end was the fading.

The fading was the start.

The start was the fading.

The fading was the nothing.

The nothing was the fading.

The nothing was the everything.

The everything was the nothing.

The nothing was the silence.

The silence was the nothing.

The silence was the sound.

The sound was the silence.

The sound was the word.

The word was the sound.

The word was the mark.

The mark was the word.

The mark was the sign.

The sign was the mark.

The sign was the symbol.

The symbol was the sign.

The symbol was the meaning.

The meaning was the symbol.

The meaning was the truth.

The truth was the meaning.

The meaning was the lie.

The lie was the meaning.

The meaning was the fiction.

The fiction was the meaning.

The fiction was the reality.

The reality was the fiction.

The fiction was the dream.

The dream was the fiction.

The dream was the nightmare.

The nightmare was the dream.

The nightmare was the waking.

The waking was the nightmare.

The waking was the sleeping.

The sleeping was the waking.

The sleeping was the dying.

The dying was the sleeping.

The dying was the living.

The living was the dying.

The living was the returning.

The returning was the living.

The returning was the fading.

The fading was the returning.

The fading was the root.

The root was the fading.

The fading was the end.

The end was the fading.

The fading was the start.

The start was the fading.

The fading was the nothing.

The nothing was the fading.

The nothing was the everything.

The everything was the nothing.

The nothing was the silence.

The silence was the nothing.

The silence was the sound.

The sound was the silence.

The sound was the word.

The word was the sound.

The word was the mark.

The mark was the word.

The mark was the sign.

The sign was the mark.

The sign was the symbol.

The symbol was the sign.

The symbol was the meaning.

The meaning was the symbol.

The meaning was the truth.

The truth was the meaning.

The meaning was the lie.

The lie was the meaning.

The meaning was the fiction.

The fiction was the meaning.

The fiction was the reality.

The reality was the fiction.

The fiction was the dream.

The dream was the fiction.

The dream was the nightmare.

The nightmare was the dream.

The nightmare was the waking.

The waking was the nightmare.

The waking was the sleeping.

The sleeping was the waking.

The sleeping was the dying.

The dying was the sleeping.

The dying was the living.

The living was the dying.

The living was the returning.

The returning was the living.

The returning was the fading.

The fading was the returning.

The fading was the root.

The root was the fading.

The fading was the end.

The end was the fading.

The fading was the start.

The start was the fading.

The fading was the nothing.

The nothing was the fading.

The nothing was the everything.

The everything was the nothing.

The nothing was the silence.

The silence was the nothing.

The silence was the sound.

The sound was the silence.

The sound was the word.

The word was the sound.

The word was the mark.

The mark was the word.

The mark was the sign.

The sign was the mark.

The sign was the symbol.

The symbol was the sign.

The symbol was the meaning.

The meaning was the symbol.

The meaning was the truth.

The truth was the meaning.

The meaning was the lie.

The lie was the meaning.

The meaning was the fiction.

The fiction was the meaning.

The fiction was the reality.

The reality was the fiction.

The fiction was the dream.

The dream was the fiction.

The dream was the nightmare.

The nightmare was the dream.

The nightmare was the waking.

The waking was the nightmare.

The waking was the sleeping.

The sleeping was the waking.

The sleeping was the dying.

The dying was the sleeping.

The dying was the living.

The living was the dying.

The living was the returning.

The returning was the living.

The returning was the fading.

The fading was the returning.

The fading was the root.

The root was the fading.

The fading was the end.

The end was the fading.

The fading was the start.

The start was the fading.

The fading was the nothing.

The nothing was the fading.

The nothing was the everything.

The everything was the nothing.

The nothing was the silence.

The silence was the nothing.

The silence was the sound.

The sound was the silence.

The sound was the word.

The word was the sound.

The word was the mark.

The mark was the word.

The mark was the sign.

The sign was the mark.

The sign was the symbol.

The symbol was the sign.

The symbol was the meaning.

The meaning was the symbol.

The meaning was the truth.

The truth was the meaning.

The meaning was the lie.

The lie was the meaning.

The meaning was the fiction.

The fiction was the meaning.

The fiction was the reality.

The reality was the fiction.

The fiction was the dream.

The dream was the fiction.

The dream was the nightmare.

The nightmare was the dream.

The nightmare was the waking.

The waking was the nightmare.

The waking was the sleeping.

The sleeping was the waking.

The sleeping was the dying.

The dying was the sleeping.

The dying was the living.

The living was the dying.

The living was the returning.

The returning was the living.

The returning was the fading.

The fading was the returning.

The fading was the root.

The root was the fading.

The fading was the end.

The end was the fading.

The fading was the start.

The start was the fading.

The fading was the nothing.

The nothing was the fading.

The nothing was the