Cursus stared in open-mouthed horror at the blank page.
‘No. It can not be.’
He turned the page, the vellum of the old book crackling. The next was equally blank: smooth and creamy white. He opened the great tome at random in three different places. All the same. There could be no doubt. He closed the book with a hollow thud, a bloom of dust. Magna Bestiarum it said in gold letters on the red spine. The titles survived longer, of course, their words visible to anyone glancing at the shelf. He wondered who had written it, who had laboured over it, what wonders it had contained. Now it was gone and he would never know.
I'll let you know when it's out ...