Turning of the Parchment

Consciousness arrived without fanfare, settling heavily into the iron of my frame. I looked down upon the tome resting in my gauntleted hand. For the first time, my armored thumb responded to my will, pressing against the edge of the yellowed vellum. With deliberate care, I shifted the leaf forward, hearing the faint rasp of dry paper beneath the stormy sky. Life, it seems, has claimed this vessel.