There's always a draw in my uncle's desk that's locked.
Whenever I go into his study, it whispers to me. So tempting.
Glossy, lacquered, chestnut wood.
Like a diabolical apple from Eden.
You know what I'd like to do, my darlings?
I'd like to take a big - no - engulfing bite.
What dirty, poisonous secrets does Walter Fowler keep?
Paper, paper, paper. I want to write a tale one day. But whenever I plan on writing a chapter, do you know what happens?
I discover that I have hardly any paper to write on.
And why is that?
Because the old man keeps it for himself.
Paper is solely man's preserve.
A/N: Please VOTE/COMMENT! Thanks, loves! : ) *blows you a kiss*
