The world is vast. Around every point of light, beings swirl in numbers too dense to be counted, and the sky is as flush with stars and planets as freckles on the face of a child left to bake in a summer camp's sun till August. If the eye were to linger at one such point, not too different from any other, one would see a a human dressed in tidy (if shabby) robes sitting at a writing desk, writing meticulously in a current-red ink on paper still bearing the scars of the last attempt. He consults a book filled with annotations crowded tight between the lines and carefully adjusts his pen, rotating it so not a drop of ink falls out of place. It wouldn't do to have an imperfect contract, after all.

The world is vast. Around every point of light, beings swirl in numbers too dense to be counted, and the sky is as flush with stars and planets as freckles on the face of a child left to bake in a summer camp's sun till August. If the eye were to linger at one such point, not too different from any other, one would see a a human dressed in tidy (if shabby) robes sitting at a writing desk, writing meticulously in a current-red ink on paper still bearing the scars of the last attempt. He consults a book filled with annotations crowded tight between the lines and carefully adjusts his pen, rotating it so not a drop of ink falls out of place. It wouldn't do to have an imperfect contract, after all.