[Your character receives a threatening letter.]

The monotonous chimes of the Grandfather's clock broke the deathly silence of ostentatious mansion. Its residence had lapsed into the alluring yield of slumber long before, yet a silhouette slinked past the residences' unseen dreams behind closed doors.

Andriene traversed the tenebrous hallways, his slippers lightly padding against the marble floor. With only a candle, the frail, flickering flame barely illuminating as much as the very ground he treaded upon. In his other hand clasped a pale envelope, torn open but hastily had the paper it held shoved back in.

Andriene knew the stakes when he began his precarious task, and he was just as life to accept his fate when the time arrived, but he had not reckon for things to twist this way. Each time he blinked, the bold, typewriter words imprinted alone on the blank canvas of the paper sprung up in his vision.

He's dead. You're next.

Shivering from the chilly autumn night, Andriene proceeded towards his objective. This was the most he could do before his time came to its end.

The hallway ended with imposing oak doors that rose up to the second storey, balconies flanking the narrow corridors of the upper floor. Andriene gingerly pushed one side open. He cringed at the inevitable resounding creak of the rusted hinges. When the gap was barely wide enough for a person, he peered one last time over his shoulder into the swallowing darkness behind him, before slipping past the grandiose doors.

The library had always been his Utopia, where he could soak himself in the idyllic exaltation upon beholding the many spines and volumes of books waiting to be devoured by his insatiable hunger to read whilst wrapping himself into his own world, unfettered by the perturbations of the physical world. Now, as he traipsed past rows of shelves, the elongated shadows that shifted and stretched at all corners did nothing to soothe the rising trepidation in him.

Past the winding walkways and up the spiral stairs, Andriene soon found himself facing the monumental painting that overlooked the two-floor library from the very centre. Framed by velvet cloth similar to those that draped the windows, the antique painting was an exquisite portrait of a dancing couple, most likely in some cathedral in the 17th century. Andriene vaguely recalled his father boasting on it being the painting of his great-grandparents - or something like that. He never was one to engross in the family's past fame, but now he couldn't help but wonder:

What would happen to the family fortune when I'm gone?

He shook his head and once again returned to the task at hand. He made his way to the very edge of the painting. Careful not to burn the edges of the fabric, he pushed the curtains aside and stepped into a gap between the painting and the wall that was barely big enough to fit a man. At first glance, there was nothing extraordinary about the lines and carvings of the whitewashed wall, but Adrien reached up and tugged the metal supporting the large canvas. There was a click, soft but audible. A rectangle piece of the wall in front of him slid open, and he crouched to enter a round room.

A lone desk and chair stood in the very centre. Built-in shelves lined with books covered all surface of the wall, and even that was not enough to store the fruits of his slaving at his lifework, for piles of paper and books strewn the already-compacted room. Andriene took no notice of the disorderly state of the room, for he was already rummaging for a fountain pen and parchment. Finally settling down with a set he deemed appropriate, he began to write.

Marcus:

I have little time left to explain, but I will do my utmost.

They found Lemure, and it aches to say he is no longer of this world. But because of him, I have succeeded in fulfilling my duty. Now they're after me. I don't know when, but it's highly likely I will have already followed Lemure's downfall by the time this reaches you.

My documents are already safe- should they find my room, they will merely find its copies. I trust you will know where I keep the original. If you make it to my room before them, the clues are everywhere. Find them, and let them guide you.

If you do not hear from me in five days, that means I fail to evade the ineludible.

I implore of you- the truth must be exposed. I can trust no one else but you.

Your old friend,

Andriene

He swiftly wrapped up his letter. Before he stood up to leave, his free hand stretched to blindly grasp at the deep end of a shelve. His fingers finally hooked onto a wood piece, and with a slight pull, the thin slab gave way. When he retracted his hand, dangling at his fingertips was a pistol, fully loaded. His lips stretched into a thin line, the unspoken grim of bloodshed loud in the cramp, silent room.

Let them come. He won't go down without a fight.

♧[1.5.2020]♧