Yolanda looked around the attic, taking in the sight of old furnishings and mothball ridden clothing. Frowning slightly as her eyes landed on a withered book, she slowly walked towards it and reached out a hand.

She drew back, unsure as to why before scolding herself internally. It was just some old book, after all. Besides, it did look valuable. Reaching out again, she picked up the book and opened it, squinting at the writing.

Yolanda was fluent in both English and Afrikaans but the writing within was neither. It appeared to be some kind of dead language, long forgotten. She flicked through the pages and stopped on one that she thought she could possibly pronounce.

Taking a moment to look it over, she began to read aloud, the words foreign on her tongue.