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[06 Nov 2008|11:31am]
So it begins

You came across it, perhaps at a library or a bookshop. Maybe a street corner vendor pawned it off on you or you found it poking out the trash in a back alley. However you came across it, it finally found you.

It was a sensible sort of book. Plain and durable. This was a book that would survive any condition.
Just the book you always needed.

It was a cute book. All pink flowers and rainbows. Joyous and warm.
Just the book you always wanted.

It was a dark book. Black leather and silver buckles to strap it shut. It exuded mystery and terror.
Just the book for you.

Your diary is unique to you. You're drawn to it's blank pages yearning to be filled up with the days of your life. But you're more than just drawn to the diary. The pages flip as if of their own accord and there is a page with a picture, moving as if it were it's own tiny film. You're intrigued. And then you're falling. It feels like you fall forever, through stars and clouds and darkness and then you can see nothing because you blank out.

You find yourself on the docks of a strange island. A place you've never seen before, and it's silent except for the wind whistling in your ears and the lap of waves on slippery rocks. Perhaps in the distance you see a far-off ship on the horizon, but otherwise you are alone and stranded, diary in hand.

You have come to Accardi.

You are here to stay.

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