NOTE:: I am putting this here just to make myself accountable in case I fuck up. This is chapter 4 from the nanowrimo project I am doing this november. This is unedited, rough and shoddy work. The first draft that is shit. Read at your own risk. CONTAINS MISTAKES.
The book lies under water. Its pages are waxed and protected from the hungry waves and it has a cover made of skin of animals that live inside its tomb. The words in the book ripple under the waves. Trapped in the pages with nowhere to go till someone reads them out and brings them to life. They have not been read since they were trapped in the pages. The pyramid under the water has not been seen by human eyes in the million years that it has spent trapped in the watery grave. Were books even supposed to be written a million years ago. The book doesn't know and the book doesn't care. The symbols in it are angry. They sense the shifting of elder powers in the world above and it doesn't give them a very good feeling. It makes them uneasy and jumpy and they thrash and squirm as the waves of unease wash over them in the water. The energy signals are strong and erratic and it doesn't make the words feel too good. They've been silent for ages and now the things are disturbing them. They want to break free from their tomb, but they need an external force to set them free, and there is nothing they can invoke or call to their aid. So the words suffer in the book of water. They send out waves of their own to let the fetid energies know that there are others who are also waiting to get out of whatever prison they're latched into. There is no shame in this. There is only a challenge. A discordant aggression that a war is coming and that war is going to change everything that stands between them and the worlds that have been silent for ages. The book of water bubbles under the surface. Angry and awake. Willing to get out of its prison which can't be broken by it. The sea churns, the waters pass them by, and the hot water near the tomb fries small animals that dare to pass by it. The anger of the book only contained by its pages. So it sends the words deep into the chapters. Looking for knowledge that it has forgotten over the years. It sends the words searching for things that are no longer there. And that are not supposed to be there, but there might be a trace. There might be a sign and the book is willing to take that chance, no matter how slim the hope, it is willing to hang on.