Chapter 2
Edmund became a Moulde when he was eight years old, after lunch, on a day not otherwise particularly different from any other day.
Spring was coming to a close and the harsh sunlight of summer was struggling to slip through the giant black cloud that filled the sky. Edmund was sitting on his stiff bed, writing a poem about the holes that riddled the warped window shutters.
Edmund had taken to poetry. When he was seven, he read a book titled The Mechanics and Structure of Verse: a Primer to the Aspiring Poetic by Sir Peeres Ekes. Years later, after he had outgrown its novice lessons — even considering the book’s inconsistencies, overly simplistic structure, condescending view of poetry as an art-form, and multiple outright lies — he still held a soft spot in his heart for the book, considering where it led him.