Q is for Quartz

Looks like this is my monthly blog, hmmph! Bloody scribbler and her bloody traditions, although I suppose mine has become a tradition, too. Quartz here, in case you didn’t notice the title. If you have no idea who I am, fine, I’ll tell you what I’m not. I refuse to be a dead dwarf, no matter what impression I gave readers in Fairest. I’m too stubborn to die of fright at the sight of my human daughter rising from her curse. No, there’s something more to my keeling over. I’m guessing this is some sort of trick or joke played by Nimmie Not, the kobold who decided to make my existence entirely too interesting. Unless I’m suffering from the sort of backlash via crystal resonation. The coffin we shaped and formed, my brothers and I, to contain our Farest, well, it might well have absorbed her pain. We were trying to heal her, after all. Now I’m the one in the coffin and did anyone think of cleansing it first? I didn’t bloody think so. I’m lying like one of the dead, yet I’m only sleeping. I’m not sure what’s wrong with me. It’s up to the scribbler to answer this. She started writing a story called Of Cuckoo Clocks and Crystal Coffins, which was supposed to be my story. Only Nimmie Not shows up in it a lot. I want to know what’s going on, but the scribbler keeps putting it aside for other, more pressing projects. I’ll have her know, I’m a pressing project! Pay more attention to me, scribbler!