61. The Blessing Curse

Rustle——

In the damp basement, before a dim oil lamp, a man resembling a skeleton held a quill and leaned over the desk writing.

A mass of swirling gray mist surged behind the man, waiting for the moment of completion.

The notebook was turned to the last page, everything nearing its end.

Finally, the disheveled man released the quill, the tip of the pen dropping at the end of the obscure text, like a period drawn.

The man lifted his head, revealing bloodshot eyes amidst his hair.

"As promised, I've completed it." A hoarse whisper sounded, his trembling hands holding the notebook, offering it to the gray mist; "The personality, identity, story the lord demanded…"

A portion of the swirling gray mist split off like an arm and took the notebook, opening the cover.

The gray mist presence quietly read it, then formed fog in front into words mirroring those in the notebook.

The man whispered with a plea: "My wife…"

The fog shattered, reassembled, piecing together a brief content.