angel_of_death: (Time to get to work)
[personal profile] angel_of_death
Early on in the night, in the same cursive hand as an earlier entry in the notebook, another message is written across a blank notebook page. Only, this time the message appears at the bottom. And it is upside-down.

˙ɹǝdɐd ǝɥʇ uo ƃnʇ ǝsɐǝld 'ɯooɹ sᴉɥʇ uᴉ sᴉ ǝuoʎuɐ ɟI


Soon thereafter, a discolouration starts from the bottom of the page. It spreads rapidly upward, warping the background behind the writing until it comes halfway up the paper. Then, mysteriously, it stops. It goes no further.
angel_of_death: (Darkly amused)
[personal profile] angel_of_death
It was soon after nightfall when a message, written in the form of a short letter without the presence of a signature, appeared in neat cursive at the head of a blank page.



Dear illusionist,

Change of plans. Come to the frilly little parlour instead. I promise it isn't because there's tea. It isn't real tea anyway.

((ooc: For those inclined to sneak to the location mentioned, Walter will be waiting at the door of the feminine parlor and will be turning anyone but his intended partner away.))
champions_legend: (Ummm I don't know if this is the right c)
[personal profile] champions_legend
[The writing is more print than cursive, and very neat. ]

If anyone would like relief from the cold, I've made Dorm 21 warm.

I hope my doormates do not mind too much.

devilpaladin: (disapproving stare)
[personal profile] devilpaladin
[An unfamiliar handwriting appears in the books, hastily written but still neat enough to be legible.]

Do not go outside. There are creatures attacking the castle. The guards are attempting to keep them out.

If you have combat experience against demons and other foul creatures, stay on guard. There's no telling what may slip past the front line.
drammaturga: (pic#8290889)
[personal profile] drammaturga
[ The message is written in a tidy scrawl. ]

Well, well! What an interesting stage we have here! The props and the actors all seem to be in the beginnings of the first act, busy as little mice with setting the mood. But I wonder, I wonder. Who, then, is the audience? And who is the lead? Or are we all equal shares that role, our toils and struggles amusing for the invisible and inaudible applause? A wonder, then, as to what happens to our homes. I know I, at least, am not from here, and judging by a quick glance through this mystical book, neither is anyone else who reads this. Then why, pray tell, have I been summoned to this performance?

- ∞

October 2019

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