• A beam of light illuminated the hallway, dimly reflecting off the ornate marble floor and elaborate vases. The light came from a cracked door, made of a thick, oaken planks. The door opened to a small study, illuminated by candles. There was only a desk with papers sitting disorganized in messy piles. A window stood ajar, letting moonlight and fresh air through. At the desk, a man sat hunched over a piece of parchment, with . In his left hand a feather with the whiteness of snow dripped black blood. The man dragged it with the elegance of a wealthy man, scribbling intricately and ornately, the ink turning into letters, than words, than sentences. The man finished his letter, and read it to himself in a whisper, his voice catching in his throat.

    "Dear friends, dear family. I have come to love you all as I would my own fiancee. You have helped me over some of my toughest obstacles, but this one that I am about to commit to must be done by me only. It seems fair that I should at least tell you that someone is after me. They will not get me, and they will not have my secret, but I trust it to you. The code can be broken, but you must never let your spirit break. For the spirit is the avenue to eternal life in heaven, and without that avenue, we would be lost like a baby in the woods- "


    The man stopped as a loud banging echoed through the halls. He rolled up the small piece of parchment, and etched an ink sign into the back. Immediately the roll of parchment levitated and flew out of the window. The man cracked his knuckles and left the room, candles in front of him lighting the way. The knocks became louder, more angry, and as he reached the front door of his manor, every candle in his house came to life, flames licking the darkness of the room away.

    The man opened the door to a horde of people. "Please, come in," The man said, his voice tense. "Welcome to Manor de Flamel."