Silver droplets of water pour from the deep, blackened sky. Night has come earlier and colder then the city expected, leaving it's unprepared populice running for dry storefronts. A handful of apathetic citizens stroll through the heavy rain to their homes, or perhaps to spend some time away from their family at a tavern. The house before you seems especially beautiful, though most likely because of your impending entry into it's
godforsaken halls. Your knock echos through adjacent alleyways. Three small, scruffy dogs peek out from behind a parked taxi, but soon retreat around a corner. Footsteps resonate from the large oak doors. After a moment, which leaves you soaked, the door creaks open. A little bald man pops out and looks at you demandingly. Without a second thought, you hand him the little envelope and he ushers you inside.
Inside is even more hauntingly gorgeous then the outside. The entire front hall is lined with bookshelves, devided only by small columns topped with busts of unrecognizable men. The walls are a dull gold, with wooden moulding set above and below the wallpaper. Halfway down the hallway, two large rooms diverge. They are precisly opposite one another, their entrances ovoid and doorless. A shiver runs down your spine when you attempt to peer inside one of them, met only by a deep, all encompassing shadow. The little man glides across the glistening wooden floors. He stops in front of two large sliding doors. His little, white gloved hands somehow push the massive doors apart, and he practically shoves you inside. The doors slam behind you and you can hear him scurry off.
A small fire churns at the far wall. The flames bounce off the black stone fireplace and dissipate on the wall. A long moment is spent staring at the green wallpaper with it's delicate gold stripes (you swear the stripes move after more then a few seconds staring at them). Once again, the walls are lined with bookcases. Two elegant couches rest neatly in the center of the room, covering much of an indian rug. Excluded by it's larger cousins, an armchair sits nearer to the fireplace. All three of them have a dull white coloring, making it hard to tell if they began this way or have faded over time. The most finely crafted little table you have ever seen has been placed between the two couches, displaying a metal tray and some bisquits. The little pastries' companions, a large bottle of what appears to be whiskey, has been set next to the food. No glasses are in sight, and no pastries have been disturbed. Suddenly, you realize there are other people in the room. You laugh half-heartedly at your odd mistake, and take a step towards the others.