Codex text
A strangely ethereal quarterly missive of suspect virtue:
The Randy Dowager greets the temperate without temperance, collecting the uncommon Vigor Mortis, being a spirited necromance quite beyond the pale. Veils have never been so thin, as the question of where one goes is overshadowed by how often one might "arrive."
The Randy Dowager: Exhibitions for the noble of thought, but spry of step.
The Lady Herself says: "A plot that gives itself away in the end, but when the mood is right, who among us hasn't? Three scarves fluttered in shock out of five."
—RD