I know. I know that every speck of dust in this library is a fragment of the wisdom I loved. I know well that these blue eyes the Witches granted me were given to see through the truths of the world, not to hold burning hatred... I know that all too well.

But look at those fools laughing and chatting down there. The secret techniques for growth that I spent nights recording are used merely as kindling, and the noble histories I tried to protect have degenerated into mere snacks for their gossip. A voice inside me whispers. 'Why must you be the only one to shoulder this heavy knowledge and suffer? Wouldn't it be easier to just burn all these records and dance together in the smoke?'

No, shut your mouth! I am... I am the Guardian of Knowledge. I have a duty... a duty to awaken these ignorant children....

For now... you may still call me the Prophet. But the next time we meet, even I cannot guarantee what kind of mask I will be wearing.

Ah, which path should I choose? Why is this not written in any book? Was I being deceived by knowledge? Why did the Witches create Cookies, and why did they make me the Prophet of Knowledge? Please, just tell me one way or the other.

Patter, patter. The sound of rain fills the library with a dull echo. Books covered in dust. A place where Cookies no longer set foot. The only one present was Shadow Milk Cookie. When Shadow Milk first shared his knowledge, everyone rejoiced, but what they wanted became increasingly clear, and now they have begun to blame everything on Shadow Milk Cookie.

Sigh... What on earth am I...