The world has never heard of you.

If your name was a storm cloud summoned to rain down upon the Land, people would think of those water-sloshed syllables as nothing more than normal pitter patter-background noise. Sound without meaning. You are a secret hidden within the cold grey Tower in which you live. You have only your parents, your teacher. Aside from them, you see no one and no one sees you. Even the servants are instructed never to cross your path.

You never meet people. Never. I myself have not met you, but I know all about you.

You are a secret kept from the world, but not from me.

I bet you're pacing the room right now, mouth turned down in that half-grimace your mother scolds you for but actually adores, one hand on this note, the other brushing a lock of honey brown hair from your forehead. And now you've stopped and are staring, just staring at this piece of paper because you were indeed doing exactly what I wrote, the words on the page made true as soon as they were read.

I know these things: You have a scar on your right shoulder from when, at age nine, you fell from a tree in the courtyard and landed on the prongs of a metal rake.

Your mother sang to you at bedtime until you were ten and still hums those old lullabies as she passes your door each night.

You love art and literature but haven't the patience for math.

Your name is unknown to all but a few and I am one of those few. You are Theobald Dorian Malcolm. Your mother calls you Theo.

I know these things. I shouldn't, but I do. Aren't you curious as to how this can be?

You won't admit it, but you are. You're an inquisitive person, always wanting to know more than you're supposed to, wishing to hold onto everything you're told to forget.

Who am I, how do I know what I know, what strange realizations do I possess-tonight, when you lay awake through the darkest hours, can you forget to ask the empty room these questions?

Well, Theo, I'm giving you the chance to have them answered-a whole month of chances, in fact. Today is the first of May, and instead of getting ready to dance around the maypole, you are alone in your room reading a mysterious message found slipped under your door.

Every day in May, you will find another note from me, but only if you give me something in return. At night, take that day's note, and write down a question for me at the bottom of it. Each question is an opportunity for you to uncover a piece of the world you've been kept from. If you want to know about that world, and how I fit into yours, take this chance. Slip my note, with your question added to it, under the rug outside your door before you go to bed. If you do this, then you'll receive an answer to your question, given as truthfully as I am able, by the next morning. That's a promise.

For this all to work, however, you must observe a few simple rules. Firstly, I will reply to most any question except "Who are you and why are you doing this?" because, honestly, what would be the point of the next thirty days if you made me answer that one tomorrow. My expectation is that you learn what you need to know gradually. I have my reasons for this. If you want to know who I am and what motivates me to sneak into the Tower each night, then keep the questions coming.

On May 30th I will reply to your question from the previous day, and I will also ask my own. Just that once, our roles will be reversed. I will be the questioner, and it will be your job to answer. Leave your response for me that night. Whatever you choose to say, you will receive my final note on the 31st.

A few more rules. Don't try to find me or catch me in the act of leaving the notes. I know you'll want to, but just don't. Be creative with your questions. Be courageous. Allow me to earn your trust.

Finally, I ask that you tell no one about these notes. I put my life at risk each time I come here. And though you have no reason to believe me, I'm doing it for you. If you tell anyone, it's a safe bet that the Tower guards will catch me. Can you guess what your father will do if he apprehends an intruder, especially one who knows of your existence?

I have everything to fear from you. My life hinges on your decision to keep these notes private. The choice to contact you was more difficult than you can imagine but I believe it to be the right one, whatever it ends up costing me in the end.

These are my terms. I'm sorry, but every one of them is necessary. You can say "no" if you want.

It goes without saying that if you do agree to correspond with me, you will be entering into a perilous endeavor. I am not supposed to know you and you are not supposed to know me. You fear your father for good reason. What I'm asking you to do would invoke his wrath if he were to find out about it, but I have to ask you to do it anyways.

If you're in, leave your first question for me tonight. If you're not, I ask only that you destroy this note before anyone else sees it.

So, what will it be, Theo? Do you have a question for me?