Deep within the castle, a figure was hunched over a leather-bound book, writing in the early morning light. His candle had gone out long ago and he had gone through four more. Finally, he was done. He sat straight, back cracking in protest as he stretched. He closed the book he'd been writing in and stood, his head down. He shuffled through the halls of the castle and to the catacombs deep below the castle. The catacombs doubled as a secret library where he kept his most important books. He set his book on a pedestal and placed a glass dome atop it. He turned to a full-body mirror he had no need for now, so he kept it down here. He tossed his hair back and got closer to the mirror. One clawed hand reached out to trace the reflection of the red eye that looked back at him.