We monsters are, shall we say, connoisseurs of the finer things in life. We like our wine red, our clothing silken and frilly, and our best bookshelf tomes bound in leather. Fine leather. The finest, actually.
And when binding your grimoire of spells and magik, a cowskin won’t do. Those stupid animals that chew grass all day? Now, now. Nor is a pig’s skin durable enough—those pesky beasts frolic in the mud and filth!
No. A powerful book of magik requires its binding to be made of flesh from a rather unique animal. One that was brilliant, and contained a soul. Of course I mean a human.
Now come a little closer. Let me get a better look at you in the light. Your pores appear so healthy. And your skin so fair. If you don’t have any plans for rising again after your death, I would love to display you up there upon my bookshelf.
Do we have a deal?
