Frozen on Fire
He cocked his head to the side and squinted at one of the titles until meaning finally popped into his head like a soap bubble, The Stories of Maenalus.
“Huh,” he said aloud, “sounds like a long read.” He dismissed the bookshelf and found himself in front of the picture on his bulletin board once again. Aside from the pictures, there were a few post-it notes written in a neat, familiar hand with purple ink.
They were all similarly confusing. One said, “Who is pure of heart?.” Another said, “Ravage with me.” The last was not in the neat handwriting at all, but in a scratchy, thin scrawl in blue ink. “Do not return,” it said. He felt a compulsion, as his eyes shifted around the board, to lower
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