Marcus

A sturdy, spacious, used writing box that shows obvious wear to its wooden exterior. Its interior features a flat writing surface, storage compartments, and a lockable secret drawer. She has traveled many roads with it and the two have endured many long nights together.

A handmade sun hat, a best-seller on Copacabana Beach.

When asked about the difference between the white scenery she saw and what she read about in her books, the interviewee answers in a stifled voice while pressing her hat down until it completely covers her eyes. It reminds me of a previous interview.

A heavy yet supple fabric, sturdy enough—hopefully—to withstand the chill of the underworld.

In Athens, the interviewee commissioned her favorite verses to be embroidered in gold thread onto this garment. It cost her a small yet painstakingly saved fortune.

But she believes it was worth every coin: wherever she travels, even along the dark banks of the Styx, poetry will be there with her.

An everlasting lantern that requires no fuel, gifted by a mysterious ghostly friend and engraved with a lighthouse serial number. Probably a relic of some poor victim of this rocky shore. The pale gray silk scarf tied to it perfectly balances its rustic feel.

A cover-up crocheted with colorful shells and starfish, it sways lightly with each step, sometimes making a crisp clinking sound. It was hard to get the shy interviewee to explain why she chose this outfit. Regardless, it's a unique and clever choice.

An ancient instrument said to carry the love of a mythical poet in its strings.

To chronicle the departed with pen and paper once felt too vast a task—too easy to lose oneself in the palace of details. But when the interviewee heard the lyre during the Dionysian festival, it dawned on her: perhaps the strings, too, are a way to remember.

Passing through London on her way to the Flannan Isles, this country girl pondered in front of a shop window for exactly 34 minutes and 28 seconds before buying this pretty hat adorned with a blue fish. It turned out to be a perfect match for her outfit.

A durable, medium-sized handwoven straw purse, with a Bird of Paradise flower gifted by the vendor as a finishing touch. Carefully stored within are documents, notes, writing tools, special sunscreen, and a Brazilian Arcanum license.

When asked what these items were prepared for, she responds with a shy smile.

A treasured emblem of honor, adorned with fresh leaves and ancient gems, which the Athenians believe carry the beauty of poetry.

The interviewee unexpectedly received this offering when she was playing the harp in the Acropolis, along with an invitation to play the role of the underworld's poet—a prospect that terrified her. Not every listener believes the epic she sings—a tale of pursuit—is drawn from real life, but the people love it all the same.

As the steam engine begins to roar, resources are once again pooled and distributed accordingly.

As the white smoke rises, the hotshots are eager to move—they see expansion, acceleration, and money flowing in like a tsunami. What a beautiful and bright world—as long as you're riding this iron steed of steam, you can gallop through the world free and invincible.

But who would waste a glance on those who pass by on foot? The value of their labor devoured by machines—their souls forever tied to those emotionless iron things. They trade their lives for mortgages, and trade endless toil for ever-scarcer rewards.

Under the dark night sky, a worker stumbles down the street and sets down a baby girl on the steps of an orphanage. His right sleeve hangs empty, and he has lost a foot. His body is of no more use to the factory owner, even though it was the iron machines that made him this way.

The baby girl sleeps soundly until he walks away, until the sky in the east turns a soft white, and until the doors of the orphanage open.

Across the street, the loud footsteps of striking workers roll at a steady pace. They carry banners and shout slogans, and as they approach, the baby girl is awakened by their commotion and cries out to the dawn sky.

<space=0.1em>1<space=0.18em>9■■, ■■ 4

<space=8.7em>For you!

*A withered leaf is pasted in the center of the notebook. Beneath it are several lines of delicate handwriting.

<space=7.5em>[<space=0.5em>Andre's Leaf<space=0.5em>]

<space=2em>He claims it's a divine leaf given to him by the Flower Knight, to protect him from ghosts and goblins when he ventures into the dark to use the lavatory.

<space=2em>It's an oval leaf about 7.4 centimeters long, with serrated edges, a smooth surface, and clear veins. Its color has turned a deep yellow, and it feels crisp to the touch after being pressed into a book for so long.

<space=2em>Based on the information above, it's presumed to be an ordinary beech leaf.

<space=2em>But I hope it truly did give Andrei some courage in the dead of night.

19■■, ■■ 23

<space=3.5em>Marcus and I<space=0.8em> know Marcus the most ...<space=0.8em>Did I write that right?

*A folded piece of paper, the front printed with an advertisement for an orphanage's fundraiser, the back contains a child-like sketch formed of simple lines in faded colors, which appears to show two little girls holding hands.

<space=2em>Elena drew us together, but I can't tell who's who anymore. She wanted to use different colors, but we couldn't afford watercolors, so I taught her how to make paint with beets. We were punished for using the kitchen without permission, but Elena was so happy. That night, when we returned to our beds from the laundry room, she gave me this drawing.

<space=2em>Homemade paint fades quickly, and perhaps in a few years this drawing will be completely gone from this paper (it's already less colorful than it was before).

<space=2em>But still, I'll keep it forever.

Marcus: Oh ... Hello, Ms. Mouth! I'm Marcus—you can just call me Marcus, I, I ...

Pandora Wilson: ... No need to be nervous, Ms. Marcus.

Marcus: Okay! Phew ...

Pandora Wilson: This is intended to be a simple interview. As I understand it, you've contributed to other publications before.

Pandora Wilson: So in your experience, what do you think attracts readers to a magazine the most?

Marcus: Well ... Well ... there are a lot of things, I suppose.

Marcus: The content and direction, the language and editing, and the illustrations ... The layout is also important ... Oh! And even the choice of font is important ...

Pandora Wilson: It seems like you just listed every possible element of a magazine.

Marcus: Sorry ...!

Marcus: ... Perhaps then, for me, the most important thing is a clear selection process.