I open my ribs. peeling back the sinews and capillaries with precision. The crack of spreading bones, my chambered apparatus laid delicately on the table.
My implement extracts its pound onto the slab with intention, pulled and pressed till it's paper thin and bled out. Soulspeak scrawled in the crackling veins of my parchment.
I put my machinations on display for onlookers, merchants and collectors but none seem to gather any interest. Skinpull another page but nothing sells or charms or foments.
I pack my wares and toss them onto the pile of my dried out corpse scattered on the floor. Failure. Another procedure. Relent, repeat, cut deeper. And hope to find a reader.