[The note appears almost typed, mechanical precision - as if printed from a machine. The ink is wet and features smelled notes of burnt hair]
You sought of something on last we met atop the peaks cresting the sun.
Let us speak more of it, and share our wayward path of discovery in the forbidden library of the Creep.
Embrace the present moment and all its possibilities. The future is yours to create.
Find me.
Zuraara