October 31, 1892
The ragged stubs had grown back, filled with dense, spidery handwriting that had not been there before. The ink was wet. brooke beretta
The basement opened into a single large chamber, circular, perhaps forty feet in diameter. In the center stood a pedestal of the same black material, and on the pedestal, a book. It was huge—two feet tall, a foot wide, bound in leather that might have once been brown but had aged to the color of dried blood. The pages were not paper but vellum, and they were covered in handwriting so small and precise it looked more like engraving. October 31, 1892 The ragged stubs had grown