PlayerOliver

When you were a kid, you lived with your grandmother in the small town of Silvertree, on the edge of a magical forest. Grandma is a witch, and she taught you how to use your magic to affect the natural world, too. “Magic is a part of you,” she always told you. “Learning how to use it means figuring out who you are.”

Now you’re 19 and on your own. After years of living in the forest while you perfected your witchcraft, you’ve returned to take care of your grandmother’s house and crow-familiar while she’s gone. Figuring out who you are feels more important than ever - not to mention, figuring out what Silvertree is. A lot is just as you remembered: the friendly generous next-door neighbors with a kid just your age, the proud town council, the quaint little shops with quirky punny names, the gentle shadowy forest full of magic.

Stone in the shoe

You tell Robin that you'll try and clear an easier path rather than winding between all the precarious objects. He gives an uneasy nod and says that he'll wait for your signal.


You move ahead slowly, making every movement with care. Most of all, you never lift anything unless you're sure you can hold it—and that it isn't going to dislodge the entire delicate arrangement.


Gradually, by picking up and moving as many things out of your way as possible, you manage to clear an easily walkable path straight through the middle of the attic. With that done, you can start digging out smaller paths in each section, slowly turning the attic into something that resembles an orderly city grid.


It's while you're still concentrating on getting through the boxes and bags and hunks of old furniture that you spot something that doesn't quite belong.


Sitting against the wall is a simple wooden chest, a dull gold fastening its only distinct feature. The mechanism is a little stiff, but it doesn't take much force to open it. Lifting up the lid, you peer curiously inside.


The contents are quite bare; all you see at the bottom of the chest are a folded piece of paper, two wooden photograph frames, and an old notebook bound in a dark covering.


Not taking your eyes off the chest, you tell Robin to come and look at what you've found. When he finds you, you've just lifted the notebook up into the light.


Letting out a quick breath, Robin crouches down beside you.


"Wow—do you mind if I look too?" he asks softly, curious eyes drifting over the chest's hidden contents. You shake your head as you turn over the notebook, the covering material still remarkably soft for how old it seems.


As Robin starts to carefully empties the chest, you open up the notebook.


Right away you can see just how much its age has taken its toll on the binding—the book's cover almost peels away from the pages entirely as you open it, staying in place thanks to only a few strands of thread. Making sure to keep it all in one piece, you start to investigate the pages themselves.


The first one is blank; on the second, you spot a few lines of small, neat handwriting, barely legible in the low light. Before you can try to read it, however, you hear Robin exclaim:


55