There was a letter in Shubble’s mailboxes, with strangely familiar gold ink and handwriting.
Dear Shubble, my good friend.
It feels like it’s been ages since we’ve last talked, hm? How have you been?
It was recognisable but in a way you could not place.
[S̴̨̧͎̖͈̾͋ĥ̷͖͖̜è̴͕͍͙̞̦̗̬̝̲͎́̄̓̓̔͛̃͋̚l̴̺͙͛̚͝b̵̰̬̠̃̏̀̒͒̆̉͊͘͠y̵̨͖̩̞̠̬̗͆̓͠͝ blinked in confusion as she saw the letter, She couldn't recall having talked to Scar ever, but she played along for the sake of it, after all, what did she even have to lose anymore. They examined the letter closely, and couldn't help but fear the familiarity that it radiated. The sculk glowed brightly, beating alongside the rhythm of her heart . . . something was not right.
They quickly dropped the letter on the mossy floor, hands shaking as though someone had just poured a bucket of lava onto them. The sculk climbed up, swirling patterns onto her arms, infesting, spreading, growing. S̴̨̧͎̖͈̾͋ĥ̷͖͖̜è̴͕͍͙̞̦̗̬̝̲͎́̄̓̓̔͛̃͋̚l̴̺͙͛̚͝b̵̰̬̠̃̏̀̒͒̆̉͊͘͠y̵̨͖̩̞̠̬̗͆̓͠͝'s eyes shone blue as she scanned the forest, the voices entrapping her from every side, all of them screaming to destroy the letter, to burn it or engulf it with her sculk — S̴̨̧͎̖͈̾͋ĥ̷͖͖̜è̴͕͍͙̞̦̗̬̝̲͎́̄̓̓̔͛̃͋̚l̴̺͙͛̚͝b̵̰̬̠̃̏̀̒͒̆̉͊͘͠y̵̨͖̩̞̠̬̗͆̓͠͝ shook in fear as the voices came in closer, crowding her, pressuring her from every side, her eyes flicked over to the letter again . . . something was not right.
She couldn't destroy it, not only would it look bad, S̴̨̧͎̖͈̾͋ĥ̷͖͖̜è̴͕͍͙̞̦̗̬̝̲͎́̄̓̓̔͛̃͋̚l̴̺͙͛̚͝b̵̰̬̠̃̏̀̒͒̆̉͊͘͠y̵̨͖̩̞̠̬̗͆̓͠͝ still had her empire after all, she couldn't just abandon it by neglecting her responsibilities (she could, she had done so many times before), but she also feared that by not responding there was a chance that someone would be sent to check up on her (to see if her empire was safe of course, why would anyone want to check up on S̴̨̧͎̖͈̾͋ĥ̷͖͖̜è̴͕͍͙̞̦̗̬̝̲͎́̄̓̓̔͛̃͋̚l̴̺͙͛̚͝b̵̰̬̠̃̏̀̒͒̆̉͊͘͠y̵̨͖̩̞̠̬̗͆̓͠͝) and she couldn't risk it, the fog was the only thing keeping her sane, she needed the fog like a fish needed water. S̴̨̧͎̖͈̾͋ĥ̷͖͖̜è̴͕͍͙̞̦̗̬̝̲͎́̄̓̓̔͛̃͋̚l̴̺͙͛̚͝b̵̰̬̠̃̏̀̒͒̆̉͊͘͠y̵̨͖̩̞̠̬̗͆̓͠͝ needed to respond to the letter, so she could be safe, she concluded even if the voices in her head screamed at her not to . . . something was not right.
The voices listened to her too, the fog cared about her opinion, so why did it feel like her veins were on fire as she picked up her quill to respond, sculk dripping from its ends. S̴̨̧͎̖͈̾͋ĥ̷͖͖̜è̴͕͍͙̞̦̗̬̝̲͎́̄̓̓̔͛̃͋̚l̴̺͙͛̚͝b̵̰̬̠̃̏̀̒͒̆̉͊͘͠y̵̨͖̩̞̠̬̗͆̓͠͝ supposed Scar will just have to deal with that.
Dear Scar,
It truly has been a while since we had spoken, The Evermoore has been growing and expanding as an empire, I am quite pleased with its results. What about you? How has everything been going on at Hermitcraft, and has there been a reason for your letter?
Kind regards,
The Great Witch Shelby of the Evermoore
S̴̨̧͎̖͈̾͋ĥ̷͖͖̜è̴͕͍͙̞̦̗̬̝̲͎́̄̓̓̔͛̃͋̚l̴̺͙͛̚͝b̵̰̬̠̃̏̀̒͒̆̉͊͘͠y̵̨͖̩̞̠̬̗͆̓͠͝ scoffed slightly as she wrote the letter, the Evermoore had not been doing great lately and the only thing expanding the empire was her sculk, but she had to act as though everything was normal, so not to grow suspicion into what's really happening. She took one long glance at the letter before sending it in.
She hoped she hadn't just made a big mistake.]