Since the season turned, I pass beneath the scriptorium stairs every night. It's not on the way, and yet my feet turn that way every time.
Last night you stood at the bottom of the stairs for the longest time. I saw the whole thing.
The prize for winning twelve nights turns out to be lingering on someone else's staircase. The court would weep if it knew.
If you bring even those footsteps with you to the thirteenth night, that'll be trouble for me.



