I got up off the stairs, my joints clicking. So much had happened - it was hard to take it all in.
Instead, I decided to think of the legends. I remembered the very words of that first, age-stained sheet of parchment.
This house be in the middle of nowhere, and none can find it but those who are meant to. And none can leave but those whose destiny it is.
The house have a mind of its own, and it will not take orders from any man. It obeys not the commands of humankind, nor that of any other species, and answers only to itself.
Grave things happen here, things that none can stop.
There had been a lot more writing, but I couldn't remember most of it. Except one thing.
But among all the terrors of this place there is one room that defies the wicked personality of the others. The Healing Room. For this room heals the sick and the injured - those with grevious wounds. No one can die here, for Death's Story cannot access the heart of the Hideout, but they can remain ill. This is why there is this room, for it will heal all those who have mortal wounds or illnesses.
It requires no payment save one thing. A promise that when the characters in the Hideout leave, they will not use their own Gifts to hurt others, but to help them.
That was the end of the page. Remembering this, I ran to the room where Corby lay, possibly dying.
Only those with pure intentions may enter.
Pure intentions? If these weren't pure I didn't know what was. I burst in on the deathbed scene, half-shouting my joyous news.