Fights Like The Devil, Dressed As A Man

After two nights of petty annoyances and the small pains of low status, Edward had had a good night: he had dreamed of the sea. Made him wonder if the issue affecting the island had long since been solved, as this was not unusual for him.

Though he'd never fashioned himself a pirate captain.

Now he was awake, feeling pleasant and warm and too-comfortable to leave his bed. So it was from his bed that he saw it, words emblazoned on the wall in thick white light.

ᴊᴜsᴛɪᴄᴇ ʀᴜɴs ɪɴ ᴄʀɪᴍsᴏɴ ʀɪᴠᴇʀs
ᴡᴏʀᴅs ᴏғ ᴀɴᴄɪᴇɴᴛ ᴛʀᴜᴛʜ ᴡᴇ ғᴏʟʟᴏᴡ
ʙʟᴇᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ᴠᴇɪɴs ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛᴏᴍᴏʀʀᴏᴡ

He scratched the back of his neck, lapsing into his other Sight almost by habit. There was nothing there. It was but an illusion, another trick played on his mind. Strange, though. He'd thought such things were meant to frustrate and hurt, rather than confusing the piss out of him.

He reopened his normal eyes, and the words had shifted.

ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪs ᴛʀᴜᴇ; ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪs ᴘᴇʀᴍɪᴛᴛᴇᴅ.

Nope. Still meant nothing to him. Strange, though there was some in the message that spoke to him. He supposed?

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