Words have no color, no smell, no weight. The words are just a dead sound. But fill it with meaning - and the words will color the world and give you a taste for life. Or they may fall on my heart and remain there as a multi-ton load. One terrible creature crawled out of the silent abyss and bit off my hand. And then she hit me with words. This caused an invisible wound that now hurts more than my stump. It’s funny. I wasn’t in the mood to take notes on her monologue, but what stuck in my memory sounds something like “Your story will never be told.” I can’t say that I’m seriously unnerved by the predictions of every archworm from the Dead God, but I wouldn’t want to give the bastard a chance. So I will write down my story. As much as I can. I've been a little unfocused lately. And I'm not just talking about the hand. Read my guide. If you're lucky, you won't make the mistakes I made. And the mistakes that you make can perhaps be ironed out. To acceptable. I'll start from the very beginning...