[These pages cannot truly convey the depth of Jacques's eternal ennui. The looping, slanted script is a relic of the Kingdom of France and lends its aged grandiosity to every word, even those that are meant to be accompanied with an exasperated sigh and roll of the eyes. After all, over 400 years and two continents, this is hardly the first time he's seen magic go awry, and he's always found that it cuts into his schedule.]
Really?
Really?
