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"We can only give the parchment to the damaged ones," he said. "Unfortunately, being damaged, they don't use it correctly."
So that was the end of it. When I woke up in my bedroom, I could find no sign of the parchment, and luckily I had the sense to tell no one about it, until now, in the form of a fictitious story.
I have never again heard from Ahriman.
If I had it to do over, I think I'd start changing the minds of dictators. Adjusting their political and social attitudes seems an easier task than trying to solve those of the secrets of a human heart.
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