Two mummified heads on the wall:
These aren't texts, but fragments flying from a head burdened with nightmares.
Each sentence stares at you... not to speak to you, but to test you.
It excavates memory with a sharp edge and places it before you: naked, trembling, bleeding.
It doesn't tell a story, but leaves its trace.
It doesn't walk with you, but rather precedes you in the darkness.
In this book, there are no heroes, no endings.
Only brief moments that silently explode, leaving ash in your heart.
A book not to be read for entertainment...but for contemplation.