Information

Eeor
Legacy Name: Eeor

The Common Experiment #932
Owner: 1969

Age: 9 years, 1 week, 1 day

Born: April 22nd, 2015

Adopted: 8 years, 11 months, 1 week ago

Adopted: May 19th, 2015

Statistics

• Level: 21
   
• Strength: 30
   
• Defense: 10
   
• Speed: 10
   
• Health: 10
   
• HP: 10/10
   
• Intelligence: 58
   
• Books Read: 58
• Food Eaten: 0
• Job: Storybook Weaver

“Oh. Well, welcome,” says the voice. Its warm and deep, like crackling wood in a fireplace. Sitting there in the center of the room is a man, tucked neatly behind an enormous dark wood desk. It’s surrounded by, and piled high with, books. That makes sense though, considering the room you happened to wander into. It’s enormous, full of shelves that reach heavenward towards a ceiling that seems too high up to be real. The shelves extend to either side of you into infinity, it feels like.

The man smiles at you, a warm thing like his voice. Wrinkles crease the corners of his eyes behind a pair of circular spectacles. His hair is greying at the temples, but the rest of it is long and a deep auburn colour that curls over his shoulder and is bound together with a red satin bow. However friendly his smile is—and it is quite friend indeed—the surroundings put you off. The books and cases seem to extend into oblivion, and yet you feel watched.

And not just by the man.

“You’ve stumbled into my study,” he stands and goodness, isn’t he tall? Like the shelves and the ceiling he seems to tall to be real, all long angular limbs. But the soft, green cardigan and khaki pants make you think of a University professor. Perhaps history, or Chemistry. For some reason he laughs, though you haven’t said anything. “I read people like I read books,” he explains. “Come with me. I think I know what you’re looking for.

You see, I am a keeper of sorts. Here within these walls I store memories. Some even those who made them have forgotten. Everyone has a section. And yours is…ah. Here we are.” You both arrive at a book case, but strangely it is nearly entirely full. You realize you’re holding a book, though you don’t know when you happened to pick it up.

“Oh, thank you.” He takes the tome from you and slides it into the final empty place on your towering bookshelf. “Oh dear,” and his voice is so warm, so comforting. His smile is bright and gentle. “It would appear meeting me is your final memory. It is for so many, I might get self conscious.”

My last memory? You wonder. But what does that mean?

“That means,” says the man as he turns to you. He clasps calloused hands together in front of him. “That this is goodbye.”

Over his shoulder, you see it. A creeping darkness rising to loom above him that seems to manifest out of the man’s shadow itself. “This is my Little Shadow,” he continues. You can’t look away from the thing, its enormous mouth wide with grinning teeth so long they rival knives. “Oh, and my name is Eeor. It’s been a pleasure.”

The last thing you see is that gentle, sweet smile. And empty eye socks behind a pair of circular spectacles.

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