An open book lies patiently.
With a beautifully illustrated cover and an enticing introduction, it waits knowingly.
The first chapter is welcoming and sets a light-hearted tone, but the plot moves at a measured pace and presents many questions.
What’s this? Pages apparently written in invisible ink, transformed by forgotten alchemy seeking old formulae.
Further in, pages torn out.
But not missing. They are sealed in a vault and a safe within another vault. The safe is only partially obscured, not particularly caring whether its whereabouts are known or not, because it is secure in its awareness that it is locked. Capable of being opened, but fastened just the same.
Where is the key? Is there but one key, or are there more?
The owner of the safe is the holder of the book and the keeper of the key. Yet, the keeper is now unsure, for there may be other keys. Floating.
Who can find a key? Who will approach the safe?
The possibilities are limitless.