Chapter 18 Clay Tablets: Also no good.
While wracked by feverish nightmare, I dreamed up ways to bury Fey and his lackeys in the icy grip of terror.
I was so close! I was so close to finally having a book! But, if I can’t go to the forest, and if I can’t have any clay brought back to me, then I’ll never get my book.
It would seem that this calls for the most traumatic of ideas: classic Japanese horror. I have no solid idea about what the denizens of this world are truly afraid of, but if I let my hair hang down in front of my face like Sadako1, wear a stained, tattered dress, and stumble towards them while whispering dark curses… or maybe I could count my missing clay tablets like Okiku from Bancho Sarayashiki…2 How about that? That’s scary, right?
Even though I had come up with so man
