This little book is special, I tell it. I watch its tired eyes as it hops reluctantly into its little envelope. A salmon, bound for that frothy stream of its birth. Look at your pretty silver scales in this winter sunlight, I tell it. It's flopping around terrified. It will breathe for a few moments before the inevitable. A long journey ahead, upstream, through the thick waters of the Lethe to a house full of ghosts and spiders...