The Resignation of Dove

I worked hard for this, and at last I have my reward! A noble piece of history sure to make a fine foundation for the future of the MOLLUSC Department! Read it! Burn it into your eyes! Know these hands were dirtied to preserve the legacy of Specialist Dove!

Miskatonic Occult Literature Library & Unusually Special Collections

(MOLLUSC Dept.)

“The Resignation of Dove.”

Dear Head Librarian Eldra Echo, it is with a heavy heart that The Complaints Office asks your permission once more to ban a previously contributed work. We are aware of the sanctity of information, the right of expression, and the value of all archival that is dutifully upheld at the MOLLUSC Dept. However, a recent contribution by Specialist Dove has brought nothing but adverse effects to the productivity and well-being of our Bookkeepers and Specialists alike.

As of the writing of this letter, the MOLLUSC Dept. has added the Birdcage to its catalogue of restricted sections. Prior to our official announcement, Specialist Janitor had volunteered as enforcer to this act. Though after careful observation, he has been deemed to be unfit for the role and thus urgent word was sent for Specialists Scholar and Poet despite their tendencies for isolation. TCO takes full responsibility for the repercussions of their assistance. Additionally, we are currently suspending all copies of The Six Limbs of Man from shelves until we receive your response. Please make haste, Dove has been exceedingly disruptive to the harmony of the Library.

Her song makes the shoulders arch, and it brings a ripple to the inkwell. You always were an honest soul Eldra, you have our faith. Though there are times where even your most dedicated Specialists cast their doubts. What value does she hold to you? Give us eyes, tell us what the Librarian sees. A red wheatfield and a waste of good paper. A foul nest, a foul body. A sour note on the Library’s opening verse. Hate and fixation are an ugly hat, that rings doubly true in her own scrawlings.

There are Bookkeepers unable to turn a single page. Their shoes do not fit their feet. Some cannot eat, some cannot think. All have read her Bible. There are new flowers in the Garden, ones that never got the chance to blossom. I’ve had to retrieve their overdue books myself. Some were reading your early works. I would have liked to debate our favorites over supper in the mess hall.

I think about these things, about the people I see each day and what odd shapes they take. I think about each new Bookkeeper eagerly awaiting their chance to etch their names into history. To lay themselves on your shelves. They look like children to me. Even Dove once wore a face of admiration for the early works of man. I could see it in my spores. How could a woman who built such a tribute to the written word place such a poison in its very heart? I mourn her now, I pick it up in the breeze. The fervent flapping of clipped wings. Severed talons scrawling on raw flesh. Skin slit sprucely, sewn sweet with sinew. Alexandria Dove will exit the Library in ten hardbound volumes.

I’ll hold a copy for you,

The Complaints Office

MOLLUSC Dept.