The Tree of Fragments will give me a place to unpack and place some of the large amount of reference material I hope to uncover about the people and places associated with The Book of Sorren. I call it a tree in keeping with the metaphorical leaves of Sorren. This tree is different in one particular way however: it shall bear unexpected fruit, and in some cases, fruit that is neither eatable, or useful, but instead may only be ornamental. Most of what I expect to uncover will be through Internet databases, old University servers, and public domain sources such as stories, novels, essays, and even fragmentary musings from obscure authors. I shall site material when necessary, but I am not a trained archivist, so my methodology will remain unorthodox and spontaneous, and even sloppy. I apologize in advance, but know that I am serious and sober-minded in my quest for knowledge. As I did when I acted as curator for the opening leaves of Sorren, I am translating some of the awkwardness of such antiquated and archaic language into a more colloquial form, and I ask the reader to forgive me for such liberties taken, for I am almost certain that I am breaking some form of code of ethics though I do so in such spectacular ignorance. I want my readers to enjoy this process. It is not curriculum, and it is not dry. I hope that it bleeds with universal truth, as the heart beats in all persons great and small.

The world changes as things fall apart into fragments. And then it must be built up again from fragments, but these fragments are part of something else. Everything in the world is a fragment. All things are built of fragments, and all things decay into fragments, from which new things are built, into larger fragments. Unity is an illusion, as is the separateness of the individual, for all things are interchangeable. And so it is that the spirit is also built from the fragments of memory, but these memories no longer exist, for they were built from fragments.
— K