The Shaod, It Was Called. The Transformation...

Authors Also Create Lovable, Friendly Characters, Then Proceed To Do Terrible Things To Them, Like Throw Them In Unsightly Librarian-controlled Dungeons. This Makes Readers Feel Hurt And Worried For The Characters. The Simple Truth Is That Authors Like Making People Squirm. If This Weren't The Case, All Novels Would Be Filled Completely With Cute Bunnies Having Birthday Parties.

Spook: No, I'm Not Troubled. In Fact, I Actually Think Everything Is Going To Be All Right. Finally.

And So, Does The Destination Matter? Or Is It The Path We Take? I Declare That No Accomplishment Has Substance Nearly As Great As The Road Used To Achieve It. We Are Not Creatures Of Destinations. It Is The Journey That Shapes Us. Our Callused Feet, Our Backs Strong From Carrying The Weight Of Our Travels, Our Eyes Open With The Fresh Delight Of Experiences Lived.

At First Raoden Stayed Away From The Library, Because It Reminded Him Of Her. Then He Found Himself Drawn Back To It—because It Reminded Him Of Her.

The Stormlight Rising From His Exposed Skin Was Enough To Illuminate The Chasm, And It Cast Shadows On The Walls As He Ran. Those Seemed To Become Figures, Crafted By The Bones And Branches Stretching From The Heaps On The Ground. Bodies And Souls. His Movement Made The Shadows Twist, As If Turning To Regard Him.