One volume has closed and the next opened. But a different Archivist writes this now, for the last has flown out to the horizon and never returned. I wish I could promise all turned out well. That fate arced its way straight and true towards fairness and justice. If there is one thing I have learned, it is that life, even one touched by magic and fate, is never tidy.

But no matter how difficult things became, I cannot shy away from putting it all down, tempting as it is to burn certain pages. I made a pact and a promise that I would show it all. The good, the bad, the intimacy, and the betrayal. I am, for better or worse, the new archivist. I have to let it stand.

Stories often begin with either a life or a death. This one is the latter.