Tonight, the air is cold. It burns my fingers with curious ferocity as I sit and lay out the cards before me.
My plans will unravel, tempered as they are with darkness.
My smile will be lit, by the knowing. The cold, carefully shadowed lust for knowledge, which I cannot abandon.
A certain pleasure, and a certain peace, instil themselves quietly into my heart. (They are hard as rocks, and consequently they cause me no small measure of pain for their prize.)
And what of those things which we cannot know?
Be wary, for magic stands at your back.
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