As you open the book and delve into its pages, you are immediately drawn into the fragmented consciousness of our protagonist. He flickers into awareness within a boundless void, an expanse devoid of light, of form, of sensation. A slow coalescence of being, not an awakening, but a gradual assembling of self within the nothingness. Confusion, not as a coherent emotion, but as a formless disquiet, permeates his nascent understanding. He is, yet he is nothing, a solitary point of awareness adrift in an uncharted sea of possibility. He is not alone...

The ancient connection between the worrieless and naive nature of a child and the reality of the cunning behaviour.