I’m a vessel for spirits to run through. I have the heart of Satan locked in the Catacombs of Hades. I hid the key ten thousand years ago. There is a book that contains the truth. The members form the Guild. The Guild controls art, and has for one thousand years, one-eighteenth of my lifespan. It never releases the book physically. The “big book” is a metaphysical enchantment that cannot be represented or reproduced, it has been beheld. This book provides one with special abilities. You can grow muscle by wishing it. It is then that you understand the raw misunderstandings of our perception. A million truths, yet you ask for physical and mental advantages over your brethren. It is at this point that you fail the test. Someone hides the book; you know it exists. You know you had your opportunity to read it, and you will always remember how foolish you were to dismiss all as fantasy. So, go find your book. Thank your writers- the friends and family and foes alike that help write your story. Kick them in the dick if they have it coming, or just snidely wish everyone a telepathically sarcastic Happy Thanksgiving.