A hand.

A hand.

Oh, oh my a hand. A hand, eldritch, an imperial hand, the hand of empire, oh.

The hand, oh, a hand a hand. Can you imagine, a hand. Do not strain, no, because there.

A hand. A hand, extended. A hand. Let me recover, please, I require one moment. A hand, of all things, a hand.

Is it still there. The hand. A hand. If I close my eyes, and concentrate, oh even then I see the hand. A hand.

How regal the hand. Oh. Look close if you dare, it is a hand. Palm up and palm down oh that is a hand, in sinister or dextrous digitation, oh the hand.

A hand that moves, I could tremble, I may tremble, for a hand. I am trembling, to my shame. But the hand. It comes, ah Seleucar, this hand.

I apologize for weeping, this caught me quite by surprise. Unaware, even. A hand. I must be a mess, I apologize again, this is unbecoming, but the hand. Oh the hand.

A hand. A hand. A hand. A hand. A hand. A hand. Gods preserve my loathsome eyes but I have seen a hand. A hand. A hand.

A hand.

[A tightly drawn enneagram in silver ink concludes, the nine-pointed star housing a small squiggle of a line dotted once on each side.]

Penned by my hand on the 17th of Daedalan, in the year 922 AF.