(no subject)
As he scribbled as a man possessed in his notebook, Gulliver's free hand ghosted over the skin of the liquid in his basin. The visions were slow in coming but almost impossible to commit to paper. How could he know which details would matter? Therefore, he tried to record everything he forefelt. His hand was cramping terribly, his eyes tired by the dim lighting of the lamp hung by the door. The rest of the world was of no concern to the adept; all he cared for were his notes and his divinations.