He doesn’t slam the book closed, but his hands are shaking as he flips the pages open to the back. He takes a deep breath before dipping his pen into the ink bottle and setting nib to page. Then, sharply and decisively, he marks out the requisite runes and name.
It takes a bit longer to compose the message, which does not take up much of the small page at all. He considers adding more, but what else is there to say? Nothing that will fit here.
I miss you.
They hadn’t really talked about it, and neither of them really wanted to either. They knew that adopting a kid was an option; it was just an option that neither of them wanted.
They could always get another cat.
The Beauty of Lava.
In quiet moments he would sometimes just sit and watch the flows, a small smile on his face as the lava twisted and wound through its channels.
One man’s hell is another man’s heaven.
Howsa likes giant melons. In all their forms.