He stood, in the cool darkness of his dungeon, smelling the vapors of the potion just beginning to simmer. Without checking the volume laying open to the right, he added just a pinch of mandrake root, then stirred counter clockwise four times. The bubbling liquid turned a bright shade of yellow as he lowered the fire underneath. With one last glance at the cauldron, he turned back to the worktable and began cleaning up the mess. Each ingredient was stored meticulously in a corked container, and then placed in a specific spot on the shelf across the room. Once the last ingredient was placed on the shelf he moved back towards the work table and picked up the wand that rested next to the volume on the table. With a quick little mutter, the door to the cupboard swung shut, sealing itself against all intruders to this dark domain.
He turned his attention back to the worktable, grasped the book with firm white fingers, and then glided to the back of the room where a small door opened. Stepping through to his private chambers he moved slowly to the bookshelf against the wall. With infinite care the book joined the other volumes, stacked in precise rows, the shelf groaning under the weight. His fingers ran along the length of one volume, lingering, like a soft caress, before moving on to another, until he found one that suited his mood for the night.
Walking towards the edge of the room, where the door to his bedchamber stood, he stopped in front of another shelf. Selecting a crystal decanter and a glass, he poured the tawny liquid to the top.
Gods, I must be getting old, he thought to himself as he slowly lowered his body into a plush leather chair before the fire. The light flickered in response, the silence was deafening. He opened the book he had picked up off the bookshelf and was lost in another world.
He turned his attention back to the worktable, grasped the book with firm white fingers, and then glided to the back of the room where a small door opened. Stepping through to his private chambers he moved slowly to the bookshelf against the wall. With infinite care the book joined the other volumes, stacked in precise rows, the shelf groaning under the weight. His fingers ran along the length of one volume, lingering, like a soft caress, before moving on to another, until he found one that suited his mood for the night.
Walking towards the edge of the room, where the door to his bedchamber stood, he stopped in front of another shelf. Selecting a crystal decanter and a glass, he poured the tawny liquid to the top.
Gods, I must be getting old, he thought to himself as he slowly lowered his body into a plush leather chair before the fire. The light flickered in response, the silence was deafening. He opened the book he had picked up off the bookshelf and was lost in another world.
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