Shadows played across the table in front of the old man. He sat in a dark, second floor room, and looked out the window at the sleepy, snow-covered street below. His grey eyes glinted in the light of a single, dim candle that sat on a table next to the window. "Serien," he whispered, "My sweet Serien." He turned his gaze from the window and back to the table in front of him and then leaned forward, reading from a book that lay open on the dusty wood. The faint brown lines were hard to read in the soft light. He whispered something on his breath and the flame of the candle suddenly grew, casting a bright, almost blinding white light through the room.

The old man seemed pleased and he read from the old book, saying each word carefully and slowly. He could feel the spell gathering around him and energy collecting in the room. His long, grey hair rose with electricity, and an unearthly breeze fluttered the pages of the book, but he read on. His voice grew in volume and soon he was shouting over the rushing wind and voices that were now coming from the woodwork about him. There was a sudden flash of light and he looked up, surprised and stumbled over the last few words of the enchantment. The light returned and filled the room, obliterating all sound and vision. The old man screamed and covered his eyes with his arms. When the light faded away he lay unconscious on the dusty floor and the book on the table was no more than a pile of black ashes.

Author's Note - Just a short prologue, I know. Sorry, the next chapter is longer.