Somewhere between the veiled curtains of history and the iron-clad grip of nonchalance, the lost sagas wander. Silent screams echo through compiler glitches in the cosmic code.
Stand not in the light of their proverbial lanterns, but rather shroud yourself in the fabric of nearby oblivion.
Herein lies the first chapter: an audacious report on tepid agreements with eldritch entities, conducting transactions over lukewarm coffee. Dwelling on the mundane has never seemed more arcane.
Next, the second installment challenges the very notion of existence: "Is it worth it?" shriek the deeming spirits from enthusiasm's neglected attic.