Who cares for the history of a monster, gilded and written in spit?
And so you stand there, expectance fueling a nauseous hunger. “So, what can you tell me?” a bold quip with a naïve smile. Yet he just shakes his head. “There is nothing for me to tell,” he shrugged, not put off by your near-indignant expression in the slightest.
He unfurls the scroll in front of you and passes it across the table. Greedily skimming the neatly-written notes, you are left to stare startled at the blank portion of the page that encompasses her biography, lineage, and past. “What a waste of time,” you mutter, turning to leave the shop bitterly without meeting the Scribe’s gaze again.
He watches your tense back as you leave and wonders if such wide-eyed inquisitiveness will lead you down a darker alley than you had imagined. The past of a monster can hardly be called a history, but more of a legend.
He saw her ages ago, bones buried in the burning Mors sand… Then before, watched as her bones sunk to the bottom of the Vitreus lake, muck and grime dulling their golden shine.
Years before then, he saw those same bones swept away by the Rapax, unforgiving and swift. And even before that, they were once lost to the ever-hungry bottom of the Tinea swamp which clung to them like tar, unwilling and unable to let go.
Centuries and eons, he remembers her.
She is immortal, her bones a beacon that cycles her back into this reality over and over and over. Each iteration of her is different… always physically the same — but sometimes more passive, sometimes crueler.
It is only when he wonders who, what she is
now that someone finally emerges from an adjacent wing, passing like a ghost through the drapery that divided the rooms. An unnerving gaze, like cooled honey that has since hardened, drifts almost lazily towards the exit door that was still shifting on its hinges.
She approaches the counter, disconcerting gaze still looking towards the door you had disappeared through. “I was wondering if you could tell me about someone I’ve seen…” she says, a tepid smile pulling at the corners of her lips as she meets the Scribe's gaze once again... after so many long, long, long years.