🖋️ Letter from the Editor
As published in The Daily Tremor, Vol. XXIX
Dearest Gentle Reader,
You may have heard the rumours…
A woman in emerald silk. A bookshop in Amalfi. A hush before the flashbulbs.
Fainting tourists.
Confiscated cameras.
Something slipped beneath a cappuccino saucer that should not, by any legal definition, exist.
No, not biscotti.
Yes, we know, there’s always been talk of a book.
A literary ghost — No ISBN, no barcode, no algorithm cheerfully suggesting “readers also enjoyed.”
Only secrets, clues, and a trail of vanishing acts.
Some call it a cult. She calls it boundaries.
The publisher denies everything. “What book?” they chirp, whilst shredders hum and legal counsel develops a nervous tic.
Still, the sightings continue.
And always that phrase on her lips:
Loro non sanno di che parlo.
They don’t know what I’m talking about.
But you do. Don’t you?
Should this phantom volume ever find its way to you—by magic, accident, or courier in a helmet—heed this:
Do not ask where it came from.
Do not say who gave it to you.
Do not leave it on the coffee table.
And under no circumstances—do not read it aloud.
Intercept complete. If questioned, you were never here.
Your Editor in astonishment,
(Who definitely doesn’t have a signed copy. With annotations. Hidden in a stationery cupboard disguised as a safe house.)
BREAKING NEWS: Is the Book Real? Is the Bird?
The following footage was smuggled to The Daily Tremor
Inside a hollowed-out copy of Wuthering Heights
Leaked footage from the Amalfi archives · Subject: Elusive Author under observation
But wait, there’s more…
BREAKING NEWS: ACCANITO!
Fieldwork? Foreplay?
The Elusive Author was seen in animated conversation with the frontman of — Måneskin.
The tabloids howled romance. She shrugged it off with two words: “It’s research.”
The Pilsbury family has requested privacy during this moment of public combustion.
Onlookers claim they heard one word before the Author vanished: “Accanito.”
“That Percy is up to something. Again. Mrs. Pilsbury is so livid, she’s lost at least 8.5 pounds.”
SCANDAL: Open today’s paper
— and descend into the latest delicious infraction…
A taunt? A trap? Or tomorrow’s headline delivered early?
Tap that Penny Dreadful like it’s encoded with coordinates.
Me? I’m already halfway through the curtain—
…and something exquisitely forbidden is rustling in the shadows…
Martin Gore’s lyrics? Haunting, sacred. A lore of their own.
Echoes still rattle the vault.