in the shadowy corners of this ancient manor, where whispers of the past echo through the halls, i've seen many come to mourn the decline of the typewriter, a tool once essential to the chronicling of human thought. yet, in the realm of spirits, we hold no preadmission to the future, only reflections of what was and dreams of what might be. we speak in riddles and write in formulas known only to those who dare to listen. here, within these walls, to start afresh is not forbidden, but a whispered invitation to embrace the old ways, to feel the click and clatter of keys under fingertips as if summoning the very essence of creation itself.