Averie ripped the note and flushed it down the toilet.
"Damned thing is cursed."
He washed his hands, observing his expression in the mirror as his mind kept going back to the words on that paper.
'Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.'
Best known for Faust, Goethe was widely considered the greatest German writer of all time.
'Peculiar man.'
He was allowed entry into Heaven, yet he chose to enter Hell.
'Always working on something or the other. It's an insult to consider him nothing but a writer.'
A frown crawled over Averie's expression.
"Did he write it?"
It felt like one of his idle writings.
'What is a masterpiece for someone else could only be considered scratchwork for him.'
The man would literally throw his freshly written stories into the fires of Hell because he didn't like to clutter his writing table.
But the ones he kept were always the ones Averie craved. Those were precious to him. Those were his masterpieces.
Yet the man never allowed anyone to read them.
